What Will It Take
by imaginationflies
Summary: Faramir longed for recognition from his father. So what would it take for him to get it? A heroic deed? A daring escape?...Death? Constructive criticism welcomed!
1. Chapter 1

_**WHAT WILL IT TAKE?**_

What will it take for Denethor to notice his second child, Faramir?

I SADLY DO NOT OWN LORD OF THE RINGS. I DO NOT SEEK PROFIT FROM THIS STORY, JUST CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM! THIS IS THE ONLY TIME IN THIS STORY I WILL SAY THIS.

Chapter 1

He was five years old. His older brother was ten. The ten year-old, Boromir could hold a sword. The five year-old, Faramir couldn't. But oh, did Faramir try. He would follow his older brother, his role model, to his swordplay practice every day. He should've been focusing on his own lessons, but Boromir promised not to tell Father.

"Hold it like this," Boromir instructed Faramir, demonstrating with a straight arm and lethal blade.

"Like this?" Faramir tried to hold the dagger as the expert had, but he collapsed under the weight of it.

Boromir chuckled while he lifted Faramir to his feet. Faramir's brown hair flicked as he spun his head around. "We can use those sticks."

"Clubs?" Boromir exclaimed. "No, dear brother, I'm afraid all the weapons in here are too heavy for you."

"When can I become a warrior like you?"

Boromir laughed, ruffling his brother's hair. Faramir tried to reach up to Boromir's dark auburn locks, but couldn't.

The older one admitted, "I'm not a warrior yet, little brother."

A sharp voice entered the room, thundering footsteps echoing. "And he won't be if small children do not leave him be and return to their studies."

Boromir grimaced. Faramir looked helplessly towards the voice. Denethor, their father, was an impatient man.

"I just wanted to show him a few things, Father." Boromir stood, showing respect for the Steward of Gondor.

Denethor's straight face didn't budge an inch. In a monotone, he said, "Faramir will learn to become a soldier when he is of age. For now, he must learn to read. Faramir, come. Your instructor is impatient."

Faramir rushed to his father's side. When Denethor turned, Faramir glanced childishly back at his brother, who gave a hearty smile back. Faramir smiled, and couldn't wait for dinner, when he would see his brother again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Faramir discovered when he was thirteen why his Father was downcast. It was his mother. She died a long time ago. Faramir devised why his Father liked Boromir better. Mother was exhausted with raising the youngest, couldn't keep up with life, and died of exhaustion.

That was why his father hated him. Everyone knew that Boromir was most alike Denethor and Faramir took after the mother. Faramir reminded Denethor of Mother, and he hated it, especially since a son was not like him.

Faramir remembered that he loved dinner with his father and brother as a child. He could see them both for the longest amount of time, at least in a child's perspective. Now, he hated the nighttime meal.

Denethor sat at the head. Boromir sat to Father's right and Faramir to the left. Servants glided around the table, serving the steward's family meat, vegetables, and wine. The uncanny thing about tonight's dinner was Denethor's face. He was smiling. He was beaming. His eyes shone.

They shone full of pride.

"Boromir," Denethor narrated, "the eldest son of Denethor, ready and willing to swear himself in tomorrow as a soldier of Gondor."

Boromir couldn't hide the grin. Faramir smiled at him from across the roasted, sauced pig in the center.

Faramir bravely asked, "Can I watch it tomorrow?"

Denethor glared at him. "It is a private ceremony for the steward, officials of the army, and the soldier only. Children are not allowed."

Faramir frowned.

The conversation after that was about Boromir, which Faramir understood completely. It was exciting, seeing his brother become a soldier. Eight years of preparing was a long time, and Boromir had earned such an honor, possibly even more than the captain currently serving, Captain Ceredon. Being only eighteen and becoming a soldier was extraordinary! Denethor had a right to be proud, and Faramir knew it.

Faramir excused himself after desert. He said he wished to work on his lessons, which was partially the truth. He needed to refresh his memory of the Eleven Stewards of Gondor, but the real reason he left the Dining Hall was to think.

He plopped down on his bed, opening the book. He dispassionately reread everything the snotty, reedy instructor assigned him to. They were just a list of names, dates, and heroic deeds. Faramir would listen when Boromir returned victorious from a battle. He would record each and every detail as vividly as he could. He would make future readers feel as if they were seeing it with their own eyes, because his brother deserved the recognition of many generations.

Just as he ended researching the tenth successor, his grandfather, a knock echoed in the room. Faramir jumped, was ready to fly to his desk. But when he realized the knock came from the side of his room, he beamed.

He gratefully closed the book, threw it on the sheets, and slid the tapestry on the wall across its hanger. He opened the small door. Boromir crawled out. They had discovered the passageway between their bedrooms as small boys. Boromir had figured it was for protecting a king's son in the Second Age.

Boromir grimaced and groaned as he inched the last of his body out of the meager opening, ignoring his brother's laughs.

"Either that opening is getting smaller or I've gotten bigger." Boromir said, standing up.

Faramir laughed. "I won't guess."

Boromir ruffled his brother's hair, cursing himself later when he realized it made Faramir feel like a child. "How are you doing? You left dinner hastily."

"I needed to memorize the order of Stewards. I can't remember the order from the first to the seventh."

Boromir smiled, took the book from the bed, sat at the desk, and showed Faramir the list. "I had the same problem, believe it or not. I came up with an alliteration to help me. It comes with a little song."

"Oh no," Faramir moaned.

Boromir laughed. "No, just listen." He started singing, patting the desk to the beat. The annoying yet clever rhyme scheme sent Faramir laughing. He wouldn't forget that order even if he aged a hundred and twenty.

When their brotherly laughs died down, Boromir embraced his brother. "I'm sorry about dinner tonight. Father is just very excited about tomorrow."

"I can see that," Faramir sulked. "Tomorrow, there'll be no more building forts, slaying dragons, saving maidens in distress…"

"No, not just any maidens; they were very cute maidens." Boromir laughed.

"Oh yes," Faramir acknowledged, "with flowing locks of golden hair, sapphire eyes*!" Faramir immediately soured. "There won't be fun anymore!"

"I'll still come see you. Remember, that cubby is our little secret."

"Neither of us will be able to fit through it much longer."

"Well, it's about time we grew up anyway. We'll still have fun, just not the type of fun we used to have. We'll have fun teaching you about archery and weapons and all the stuff I know."

"I don't need to learn soldier criteria. I'm not eighteen yet," Faramir protested.

Boromir thoughtfully looked at his younger brother. "Well, eighteen will come sooner than you think." He turned back to the book. "Alright, let's get you started. Who was the eighth Steward?"

Faramir growled, "I don't know!" He ran to his bed and plopped on it. It wasn't often that he pouted, but sometimes it was the only way to get a point across to his brother.

"Faramir?" Boromir walked sat near the foot of the bed.

"I don't know what battle our great-something father won."

"Well, here," Boromir held the open book in front of Faramir's nose. "Read the fifteenth paragraph."

Faramir sulked more, but he did as his brother wanted.

He slowly read aloud. "The great Steward of Gondor led the mil-it-arry to vis-vis…"

Boromir hesitated. "Faramir, that first word is military. The second word is victory."

"I know," Faramir snapped. He continued, "When the…military re-re-turn-ed."

"The "ed" isn't pronounced," Boromir said gently, "it sounds like a normal d."

"Re-Returned! When the military returned from war, there was a great…cel-eb-ra-tion!"

"Good."

Faramir closed the book. "I don't feel like studying now. I'm going to the archery range."

"Faramir, wait!" Boromir grasped his brother's hand. "Answer me one question. Do you read as well as other children?"

Faramir didn't respond. He just stared at the door.

Boromir sadly guessed as he stood, "You don't read as well as other children. You have trouble with big words."

Faramir shook his hand free of Boromir's grasp. "Two years ago, Father wanted me to read aloud to him, to see how well I was doing in my lessons. I stumbled over every other word. Father called in the instructor and the instructor finally admitted that I had trouble reading. It's just…all the letters look the same."

"Why wasn't I told about this?"

"When it happened, you were on that two month tour of Osgiliath. I didn't tell you because I thought it wouldn't be important."

"Still, I could've helped you to learn to read."

Faramir turned to Boromir and scoffed. "That's why you're his favorite! You do everything right! I don't! You could wield a sword by the time you were ten! I'm still learning how to knock an arrow! When I become a soldier, I'll be the worst one ever!"

"Faramir, that's not true and you know it!"

Faramir didn't know whether Boromir's reprimand was about Father or his unguaranteed career, but he continued anyway. "But you both are exactly alike! I'll never be like you and Father knows it! You're both proud, loyal, diligent, you both love Gondor! I love Gondor too, and I would fight for it, I really would, but I'm not a leader. That's why Father doesn't like me."

"He loves you!" Boromir protested. "He just shows his love in different ways."

Faramir glanced at the ground, unconvinced.

Boromir inhaled and stood upright. "Tell you what, after my Induction tomorrow, I'll spend the evening with you and we'll go riding."

"Riding?" Faramir exclaimed. "On horses?"

"No, on goats." Boromir's sarcasm made Faramir finally smile.

"Well…"

"If you don't want to ride," Boromir negotiated, "then we'll do whatever you want."

Faramir glanced up with a hopeful gleam in his eye. "Archery?"

Boromir smiled. "Done."

Faramir hugged him. "Thank you, brother."

Boromir nodded, smiling, his hands around the child's head. "Now, get some sleep. If you're going to watch my Induction tomorrow, you can't yawn."

"What?"

"I finally convinced Father. You can watch!"

Boromir received yet another hug.

_*Reference to Eowyn. I thought it would be cute if Faramir's vision of a cute maiden was his future wife. _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Here do I swear loyalty to Gondor. In peace or war, in living or dying, from this point forward, 'till m'lord release me, or death take me."

Boromir's words echoed in the Steward's Hall. Faramir watched in silence, bathing in pride.

"I welcome it," Denethor said, smiling. He walked down the steps. "Nor will I forget it." He placed his hand forward, and his son kissed the ring. The steward strapped the sheath for an heirloom dagger to the steward's son's belt, as was tradition. Denethor embraced Boromir, and the captains cheered.

Faramir clapped, wearing the livery his father had made for him with pride; a white tree was just the right adornment for this occasion. His brother was a soldier.

Boromir stood beside his father as the petition of the army was brought forward. The one speaking was Captain Ceredon, leader of the Gondor army. He would soon be replaced by Boromir, Faramir felt it in his gut.

"My lord," Ceredon greeted, bowing low.

When Denethor nodded, Ceredon began. "The harvest is coming in, but it not as bountiful as previous years. Our soldiers' salaries are not enough to keep sufficient food in stock. They must feed their families. We humbly ask, mighty Steward, for an increase in our soldier's pay so that their families may prosper."

"Tell me," Denethor coolly ordered, "do the soldiers not get paid the most of those in my service?"

"Well, yes m'lord…"

"You know the families of your men, don't you captain? How much food do their families have? Are their families fed three square meals a day? Is there enough food?"

"Well, yes m'lord…"

"Then I cannot possibly see the problem. The soldiers are paid the same salary as they have been for the past years while I have sat in this chair. If it is not good enough for them, then it would be better if they leave the army. Is that what they want?"

"No, my lord!"

"Then the matter is settled. You are excused."

Captain Ceredon fumed. He did leave the presence of the Steward, and Faramir, intrigued, followed him, knowing his father didn't care where he went.

Through endless, high corridors, small rooms, and places Faramir didn't even know exist, the captain unknowingly led the adolescent to his destination.

Faramir finally hid behind a beam, listening to the conversation.

"Captain, what did the Steward say?" one of the five soldiers asked.

"He said if we were to complain about our salary, then it would be better if we left the service."

"What?"

"I couldn't get a word in edgewise. The Steward is a stuck-up pig unfit to rule over this country!"

Faramir gaped. The soldiers thought this? How many more did?

"We need to do something about this!" the soldiers agreed in unison.

"But what can we do?"

"We've tried nearly all methods of persuasion!"

"We could talk to Denethor's son, Boromir!"

"You insolent fool! The man will just side with his snake of a father!"

Captain Ceredon tapped his foot. "The only thing that we are doing now is complaining. We're forgetting we need to get even with him. Remember that this is not the first time he's refused me money, a man his rightful pay for serving him unquestioningly for twenty years."

"What do you mean?" one of them asked.

"He's hurting your families, we need to hurt his."

"Meaning what?"

"There is only one way to hurt a father."

Faramir backed away silently in fear. He didn't know what was being planned, but he needed to tell someone. Now.

Denethor rummaged through his papers.

"My lord, Denethor?" a voice asked outside the door.

Denethor sulked. His youngest never ceased bothering him.

"Faramir, you know that you are supposed to be studying," he snapped. "Why are you bothering me?"

Faramir stuttered, "I-I overheard some of the soldiers talking-"

"You bothered them didn't you? I thought that I told you never to interrupt the soldiers in their business."

"I didn't-"

"And now you insist on bothering me!" Denethor stood, watching fear rise in his son's eyes. "You are a stupid child! Your brother wouldn't disturb me! Your brother would follow my wishes to the letter! Your brother can read!"

Faramir backpedalled, as if he were falling to the ground.

"Now, leave before I discipline you!" Denethor shouted. "Now!"

"Father, the soldiers want to-"

"Faramir!"

"The soldiers are planning-"

"Leave me now!" The whole palace could've heard Denethor, but he didn't care.

Faramir left the room, a tear sliding down his cheek.

Denethor huffed and sat back down. He was busy; he couldn't listen to the child now.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Faramir brushed the third tear from his eye. He was a stupid child! Just like his father said! Men don't cry!

He flew the door to his room open, running. He collapsed on the bed, and regardless of the adage, he wept.

He didn't want to admit that what the soldiers said had some truth. His father was not a pig! His father loved him, like Boromir promised he did! His father loved him. Denethor loved him!

He couldn't bring himself to believe it.

It was a few hours before Faramir realized his duties. He was supposed to be studying in the instructor's office. But, he couldn't focus on the history of Gondor when the present of his life was bothering him so much.

A knock sounded on the door. "My lord, Faramir?"

Captain Ceredon.

Faramir started. Did Captain Ceredon know that he had listened to their conversation? He was so small and so quiet Faramir thought that he couldn't be heard. Securing his battle armor, Faramir wiped the final remnants of tears and opened the door. "Captain," he sourly greeted.

The captain held a folded piece of paper forward. "Your brother instructed me to give this to you."

"Thank you. Is there anything else?"

The Captain looked at Faramir questioningly. "No."

The conversation ended when Faramir slammed the door shut. He unfolded the note. His brother was nice about his disability and used small words.

_Faramir, I am sorry about what Father said to you. He is just tired. Meet me in the kitchen right now and I will have Cook give you a treat. I love you, brother. Boromir._

Faramir smiled. Still wearing his armor, he hurried down the halls and into the kitchen, but when he got there, a surprise awaited him.

No one was present in the kitchen. The cook was gone, Boromir was nowhere to be found, and nothing was cooking, though the midday meal was approaching hastily.

"Boromir?" Faramir called. "Boromir? Cook? Hello! Is anyone in here?"

He wandered the kitchen, looking for any signs of life other than the clucking chickens in a cage in the corner. The pigs honked and the cows mooed, but no humans spoke.

"Hello?" Faramir repeated.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

Faramir spun around, afraid.

"Ah! My lord, Faramir!" the cook bowed, a long coil of rope in his hands. He looked nervous.

"Hello. Have you seen my brother?"

"Well, now that you mention it, no, I haven't. Are you looking for him?"

"Yes, he said that he ordered you to make me a treat."

"Oh. Yes, well here it is."

"A raspberry tart!" Faramir exclaimed. "My favorite!" He belatedly realized that Cook lied about seeing Boromir. If he hadn't seen him, he wouldn't have known Boromir wanted the treat for Faramir. He supposed a servant could have been sent in Boromir's stead; Cook wasn't one to volunteer information. But, at the same time, Boromir had said to meet _him_ in the kitchen.

"That's what your brother said!" the Cook said, snapping Faramir back into reality. "Now, come with me!"

"Can't I have it?"

"Just come with me!"

Faramir followed, though his suspicions were heightening. The Cook took him by the hand and hastily led him to the back of the kitchen.

"They'll be looking for you soon enough."

"Who?" Faramir asked.

Captain Ceredon appeared from nowhere, rope in his hands. A soldier was behind him, holding two pieces of long cloth.

"What's going on?" Faramir asked, fear in his heart. He tried to back away, but the Cook had him hard.

"Your father's loyal soldiers will be here soon enough," Captain Ceredon answered.

Cook gagged Faramir with his free hand.

Faramir tore at it, but the soldiers had his hands. After removing his livery, they bound his hands behind him. They tied his ankles next when his boots were hidden. Another rope wrapped around his arms and chest, tied tightly. The cloths were put to use immediately following. They blindfolded him, gagged him, though through the whole ordeal, Faramir did not make it easy for them…at all. They picked him up, Captain Ceredon ordering his men around.

"Take him to where we planned to. If he makes too much noise, silence him more."

Faramir heard the footsteps of a man fleeing, leaving the two to carry him. He struggled in their grasp, using his body like a spring to lessen their hold. Nothing worked.

He screamed through the gag. What was misunderstood to those that heard him was that he was calling his brother, knowing that even if the note was a lure, he had to be somewhere. Boromir always came to the help of his brother. Where was he?

He wrestled as the men took him somewhere unknown, screaming the whole time. He was punched in the head.

"Shut up already! No one's coming to help you, you son of a pig!"

That made Faramir scream more.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he heard a door open in a cold room. Faramir was dropped on a stone floor, his head pounding from impact.

"Welcome home!" Cook mocked, kicking the boy.

"What are you doing?" the soldier demanded.

"I'm making his father pity him, for once!" Cook spat.

The door closed, and Faramir was alone. Alone.

He laid there, on his side, pondering his circumstances.

Captain Ceredon had kidnapped him. Ceredon had been the one to swear revenge on Father. What was it he said? _"There is only one way to hurt a father."_

Faramir didn't understand. Why would a son tied up hurt someone? Unless…they planned to kill him.

Faramir's fear grew. They wanted payment. They could get payment; the exchange of a son's life for the fortunes of the Steward. He would like to think that most fathers would risk their lives to get their sons back, but Denethor was not that type of father. Boromir even admitted it.

Would his father let him die? Was his money so important to him that it was worth the life of his flesh and blood?

Faramir felt tears come. They were jealous tears; unmerciful, hot, angry, furious, unloved tears. Faramir was not worth the riches of Denethor, but there was another son that was. If their places had been exchanged, Faramir knew that Denethor wouldn't hesitate in coming to Boromir's rescue, even if it reduced him and his sons to beggars in the streets. But Denethor would sit down and contemplate it when he found Faramir on the ground, bound, and his life threatened.

Faramir pulled at the ropes, though the coarse twine gnawed his wrists and made them ache. He rubbed his temple against the hard floor, trying desperately to remove the blindfold so he could see where he was. The gag was no use.

He struggled until he could no longer.

He let his body fall limp, crying. He murmured through the gag, "Boromir, come get me! Boromir, please! Please hurry!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Boromir heaved a breath out. He was never told that his first day in the Steward's service would be so exhausting. He knew that it demanded a plentiful sum, but did the selling of his life require so much?

He met his father outside of the Dining Hall. He ate his midday meal with the soldiers, made a few friends, including a young father named Beregond, but he was now ready to eat with his family.

"Boromir!" his father exclaimed, pulling his son into another embrace. "Did you enjoy your first day as a soldier? Did you get along with the other soldiers? It wasn't too tiring, was it?"

Boromir smiled. "No, Father, not at all. I met a soldier who was a new father. His name was Beregond. His new baby boy named Bergil was the only topic that he discussed at supper, but it was amusing."

"I am sure it was, my son."

They entered the Dining Hall. They sat down at their assigned places. The meat was served by elegant servant girls, without Faramir at the table.

"Where is that irresponsible brother of yours?" Denethor asked as he devoured his turkey.

Boromir hesitated, inhaling. He slowly admitted, "I told him that I would spend the evening with him. I suppose he got carried away and ran off to the archery range once he knew my hours were up."

"Well, he will have to learn sooner or later that tardiness is an unforgivable fault for the son of a steward. Servant!"

A squire rushed forward, bowed before Lord Denethor, and arose. "Yes, milord?"

"Find my youngest son and bring him here. See that Cook holds back on his dinner."

"Yes milord." A hasty bow was given and the squire rushed off.

Boromir stared at his food. Turkey, cheese, tomatoes, grapes, wine…it was more than the soldiers' families were getting. It was more than Bergil would get to eat in his childhood.

Boromir lifted his head, much like his father, and announced, "Servants, leave us and enter only when to deliver food."

The servants did so, without question.

Denethor glanced around in surprise. "An unusual command, my son."

"Father, I wish to speak to you privately."

"Of course, my son, anything!"

Boromir bit his lip discretely, unsure of how to begin. "Do you think that it would be unwise to not give the soldiers more payment? They risk their lives in battle, they follow your word to the letter, and they would die for your survival and the survival of Gondor! We receive the first fruits for our meals because you are the Steward. But, Bergil, Beregond's son, will receive nothing like this. Isn't a soldier's life worth reward not only for them but for their families?"

Denethor smiled. "You are wise my son. But this policy of payment has been in place since I became Steward. It was in place when my father ruled, as well as his father, and his father before him. It is good enough for me as well."

"But, Father, the baby…the children…"

Denethor held up his open hand, silencing his son. "Captain Ceredon has asked for more payment before, Boromir. The rest of the soldiers are content with their salary. The captain is just becoming more and more discontented with what we provide for him and he drags other soldiers to do his bidding. He has more than most of the men in the army, but his greed blinds him."

"But..."

"When I join my fathers, you will rule Gondor, my son. You will not be king as you daydreamed as an infant, and as you wished me to be. You will be a Steward, holding the throne for the King when he returns."

"Father, you don't enjoy the title "Steward", you wish to be king!" Boromir said, knowing that his father turned nearly every conversation into how Boromir would inherit the Steward's title. His father was just proud. Boromir wished they were kings as well. His personal theory was that if the king had taken this long to return to them, then the king wasn't worth waiting for, and a responsible ruler should be instated.

"I know." Denethor soured, but continued from his previous point. "When I join my fathers, you will become Steward in my place. You may then rule the White City of Gondor, Minas Tirith, by any means which you choose. With your compassion, wisdom, and integrity, you will make a fine Steward. I can see great, rewarding, victorious days during your reign."

"Thank you, Father." Boromir decided to drop the subject of payment. A new, more pressing topic called attention. "What of Faramir?"

"What of him?"

"Father, I am not your only son. There are two heirs to the Stewardship of Minas Tirith."

"I know of your brother."

"He keeps talking about becoming a soldier and serving you. Father, he loves you."

"And I love him."

Boromir said under his breath, "It doesn't show." He hoped his comment was hidden by his sip of wine.

Denethor snapped. "What did you mean by that?"

Boromir grimaced. He set down the goblet and decided to be blunt. "You didn't have to mock him when you discovered that he couldn't read, or at least as well as other children, as well as you and me! He tries! I helped him review the past, great Stewards last night. He can read! It's just that he's slow at it!"

"Your brother needs pushing to become the best man he can be."

"What if you're pushing him too hard?" Boromir snapped, louder than intended.

Denethor stood up, his chair sliding backward. "I will not be questioned by my own son!"

"Would you make your younger son think he's inferior?"

"Boromir, this conversation has ended."

Boromir opened his mouth to object, hot words on his lips…

"It is over!"

Boromir closed his mouth. "Yes, Father," he hissed.

Denethor sat and calmed himself. The meal continued with no conversation.

A knock sounded on the massive door.

"Come," Denethor ordered.

The meek, quiet squire sent to find Faramir entered. He bowed. "Milord Denethor, I cannot find Lord Faramir."

"What do you mean you cannot find him?" Denethor snapped.

Boromir winced. He hated it when his father was cross with him and took it out on the undeserving servants and his younger brother. If only Faramir knew how many outbursts from their father he received was indirectly caused by him.

"I have looked everywhere. The stable, the archery range, his room…milord, I cannot find him!" the squire continued.

"Search more!"

Before the squire could bow, a distressed servant girl entered, bearing a large box and a note.

"What is it girl?" Denethor asked.

"A message for Lord Denethor and Lord Boromir," she replied. She handed it to the squire and rushed out.

"Well, read the message," Denethor ordered loudly. "What does it say?"

The squire placed the box on the table and unfolded the note. "There is no signature. It says, 'Lord Denethor. Place one thousand silver coins in the crack of the Minas Tirith gate on the East side. Clothe yourself in a brown cloak so no one knows that it is you. When you have backed away five hundred paces, only then will your son Faramir be returned to you alive. Bring no assistance or Faramir dies in front of you.'."

Boromir leapt up, breath short. "What?" he shouted. "Who has him? Where is he?"

Denethor calmly said, "Boromir, stay sane. We have no proof of your brother's kidnapping. This may be a prank and Faramir is in the stables."

Boromir didn't stay sane. He was on the verge of unsheathing his sword and hunting down the vermin who dared touch a hair on his brother's head. He snapped, "Open the box. What's in there?"

The squire flipped the lid open. His face went limp. He lamented, "My Lord Boromir. It is Lord Faramir's livery." He held up the chest coating.

Boromir shook. He trembled. He glanced at his father. "Is this proof enough?"

Denethor calmly stood. "We have no deadline for the ransom. We must approach this matter calmly. We have time…"

"We have _no_ time!" Boromir shouted. "They said they'd kill him!" Boromir shook away the tears that threatened to be released.

Denethor turned to the squire. "Go to Captain Ceredon. Give him the order for a city-wide search. Tear down houses, rip down stone. We will find Faramir within the hour."

"Father, that won't work!" Boromir yelled. "If they know they're in danger they'll kill Faramir!"

"Would you challenge my every order?"

"To save my brother…yes!"

Denethor glared at his eldest. "You will lead the search parties then."

Boromir knew he would never convince his father. That was as close as Lord Denethor came to listening. He huffed off, angry yet thankful with his father's answer. As he made his way through the corridors of the palace, he let tears drop down his cheeks. He brushed his tears, hoping that no one would see him. He whimpered, trying not to imagine what his brother was feeling.

He was probably scared to death; bound, gagged, in a cold, dark room, not being able to see the light of day. Was he threatened with death? Did they mock him? Did they tell him his father wouldn't come, that his brother didn't care?

They were wrong.

Boromir promised, _I'm coming Faramir. I'm coming._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Faramir laid in his cell, straining his ears for any sound.

The door creaked open. The gruff voice of a captor echoed, "Your brother's coming. One squeak and he finds his greatest fear: your dead body."

Faramir was lifted up, standing on his unsteady, bound feet. The cold, sharp blade of a dagger rested against his throat. He whimpered, his fright speaking for him.

"One squeak…" the servant reminded him. "You're worth about one thousand silver coins to the Steward. That's all."

Faramir winced. He longed to see where he was through the cloth, discover why his brother couldn't see him. He felt his breathing quicken.

His brother was smart and quick.

* * *

He'd find him.

Boromir, with Beregond at his side, rushed through the pantries of the kitchen, to Cook's dismay.

"Faramir!" Boromir cried in anguish, his voice cracking. "Faramir!"

"My lord Boromir," Beregond hushed. "We will find him. They couldn't have taken him out of the city."

Boromir didn't listen. "Faramir! Faramir!"

* * *

"Faramir! Faramir!"

Faramir silently wept as he heard his brother call his name. He was hurting. Faramir never heard his brother so broken down, so helpless, so worried, so lost.

He whimpered.

"One squeak…" the servant reminded him, tightening his grip on the hilt.

Boromir tore the food from the pantry, bruising apples, bending cheese, spoiling fruits. Every time his brother was not behind the food, looking desperately at his brother, Boromir's heart broke all over again.

Along with his hope.

"No," Boromir moaned when all of the food was spilled on the floor. "Please. Please, no!" All he wanted was to feel his little brother in his arms, hugging him, never letting him go again.

Beregond came to his aid. "Boromir, we will find him. The pantry is just one part of this city. There are other places that Faramir could be. Let us check them."

Boromir bit his lip, held back tortured tears, and went with Beregond out of the kitchen.

* * *

Faramir slumped to the ground. He broke into tears when he heard footsteps leave the pantry. Why couldn't they find him? Where was he? A secret passageway?

He cried, shoulders shaking, tears slipping through his closed eyelids and blindfold.

_Boromir, Boromir! Why didn't you look! Why couldn't you find me? Please try again! Brother, try again! _

"You really are pathetic," the voice slithered. "Lord Denethor has done one right thing in his reign, putting you out of harm's way." He kicked the boy, smiling when Faramir groaned.

"I have to go. You'll be lonely once more. Good night. Have a good sleep."

Faramir winced and buried his head in the cobblestone of the floor. Was it nighttime already? How long had he been here? It had felt like hours, but had a whole day really passed?

He heard a rat scurry across the floor. It stopped suddenly, sniffing something, and then continued.

Faramir again pulled at the ropes, unmercifully. He would get free. He would show his father that he was a man, just like Boromir.

But he had to be alive to do that.

* * *

Boromir led the men along the houses of Minas Tirith. The women pulled children backward so that they would not disturb the business of the soldiers. Men guarded their wives, wondering why the Lord Boromir was heedlessly ransacking their homes, looking for something.

Finally, the frantic soldier bellowed, "Who is holding my brother?" His voice held more agony than any had ever heard.

Boromir desperately held back tears, looking through every nook and cranny large enough to hold a teenage boy. He scoured the attics, tore down walls, and pushed artifacts in closets aside. He had been searching for an eternity, it felt. The moon was now chasing the sun into the horizon. Where was his brother?

Why didn't his father care?

Beregond had been Boromir's only source of sanity. The young father had consoled Boromir, comforted him, and had aided him.

The search of the city was done. Boromir knew that loyal soldiers had searched the city just as thoroughly as he had, but his heart longed to search the whole city. He would not stop until he had found his brother.

Exhausted after his assigned fifth of the search, Boromir sat on the bench and buried his head in his clenched hands. He let a cry escape. The men would understand, wouldn't they? Did they think him less of a man?

"My lord, Boromir?" Beregond asked, above him.

Boromir looked up. "Yes, Beregond? Did we find him?"

Beregond shook his head. "No, my lord. But we will, I swear it."

Boromir only nodded and returned to his posture of pity.

He felt Beregond sit beside him. "I know that this must be exceedingly difficult. If I lost my little brother, I would show no mercy when I found those who touched him."

Boromir looked to the starry sky, his face alit with the glow of the fires lighting the streets. "You want to kill them."

"I'm sure you will. Those soldiers loyal to you and your father won't rest until he's safe back in the palace eating a hearty meal. Boromir, I swear over my place as a soldier of Gondor, we will find him. Alive."

Boromir nodded. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Beregond smiled, nodded, and patted Boromir on the back. "And when we do find him, I will see to it that his captors are delivered to you and your father."

Boromir thought for a while, and then spoke, "How do you feel about the wage not increasing for soldiers?"

"Truthfully, my lord, I agree with it. We have all that we need, and because of that, I will serve my lords until I die, as I swore. Those who break that oath are not worthy to fight alongside me in battle."

"But, your son will not get enough to eat."

Beregond smiled. "We may not receive as much as you do, but we will survive. Remember, each day we hope for the return of the King."

Boromir nodded and started laughing. "Faramir once told me, when he was very young, if the king came back in his lifetime, the first thing he would ask him was what took him so long."

Beregond merrily laughed. "As I'm sure we all will."

Boromir chuckled. "Thank you for comforting me, Beregond."

"As long as it is needed, my lord, I will be here."

Boromir again thought of his brother; his helpless, bound, gagged, frightened brother. "I will need it much more in the future, my friend."

* * *

Faramir awoke when he felt himself being lifted.

The man carrying him huffed, "Did you check the wall for the ransom?" The peppy voice proved that Cook was carrying him.

"No," a soldier growled, creaking something open. "Someone is watching it constantly. When a hooded man is there, he'll give three hoots of a barn owl. Then we'll give the boy back."

"Obviously our money won't come as quick as we thought. We kidnapped the wrong son."

Faramir winced as he was dropped. The floor felt wooden. Something creaked shut above him. He was in a box. He felt himself being lifted. He yelled, though he knew it was futile. He kicked the sides of the box, trying to find a weak spot. He needed to escape.

He let his senses tell him what sight, taste, and touch couldn't. He tried to, in his mind, create a map of the kingdom so he would have some idea of where he was, but he lost track when they slid him into a cart. He smelled meat, cheese…

_The supply cart to Osgiliath! They're taking me out of the city!_

He kicked the box more. He shouted through the gag more. When he was being shaken, he stopped, following the orders of the horrid kidnapper.

He listened to the horse's clopping in silence. They clopped down the streets of Minas Tirith, Faramir knowing that time was drawing short. He was being taken from his brother. He didn't care about his father, because he knew Denethor didn't care about him.

He realized for the first time how much his body was cramping from being bound for hours. It hurt to move. He longed to open his eyes, his mouth.

He heard a murmur outside of the box. "You, boy, you're going to hear voices. If you don't scream, you'll eat when we get to the place we're going. If you scream, I open the box and shove a knife in you."

Faramir felt his heart twist with fear. How could it not?

He stopped thinking when a painfully familiar voice and name again hit his ears.

"What is in the cart?"

"They are supplies to be taken to the men of Osgiliath, Lord Boromir."

Faramir longed to scream. He wanted his brother to know that he was here, so that this agony could be over and done with, but the picture of a knife silenced him.

"What are they?"

"Cheese, apples, meat, and the other usual foods milord."

"What is in the box?"

"A dead goat. The men requested it. They wish to prepare as they desire."

Faramir would've screamed. So that was how they explained the kidnapping of an unworthy, weak son! _Boromir, please! Please! Please you have to notice! Don't let…don't let me…please!_

Boromir's voice sounded, "Go ahead."

Faramir wept.

He kicked the box in frustration and agony. Was he not strong enough to let his brother know that he was alive and two times now right under his brother's nose!

He cried in the crate, mourning his weakness.

His father was right. He was stupid. He was a stupid, stupid fool.

And now he was paying the price.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Denethor looked outside across his balcony. The moon was full and the stars shone brightly. It had been hours since Faramir disappeared. He originally thought his son's absence to be a prank, revenge for ignoring his visit, but now, he began to take the proof of his son's kidnapping seriously. The livery had no note on it, but no one had seen his son for nearly the past twelve hours, dinner being the sixth. Where could he be?

"Father," Boromir breathed as he entered.

Denethor turned and gaped. He had never seen his oldest like this. "Boromir? Have you been crying?"

Boromir brushed his cheek, as if that alone proved his manliness. "We were not able to find him through the search."

Denethor glared at the suspicious guard at the door, but looking closer, he knew he wasn't a guard. It was Captain Ceredon.

"Captain, what are you doing just standing there?"

The captain made no response.

Denethor fumed. "All servants leave us! Go and search! Leave no stone unturned, no person unquestioned! None in the city will rest until I see Faramir in my presence, alive and unharmed!"

The captain bowed, no words spoken.

The doors were shut.

Boromir saw his father lean on the fence of the balcony. His father stared into the great buildings of the city. "Father?"

Boromir silently stood by his father, watching his unmoving face. If Denethor didn't show emotion on the outside, he was feeling it on the inside.

"He tried to warn me, Boromir."

"What?"

"He came to me, while I was doing my work, told me…tried to tell me what was happening. He knew they were going to take him. I didn't listen to him. If you'd seen his face you'd have listened. It was fearful. He was so scared. Now, because I didn't listen, I'm plagued with worry. Boromir, you were right."

Boromir placed his hand around his father's shoulders. "I know you love him, Father."

Denethor tore away from his son's embrace. "They want ransom. We will give them ransom. Fill a bag with grain. I will place it in the crack of the wall. When they bring Faramir out, take your bow and shoot all that hold him captive. He will be returned to us."

"These kidnappers are not stupid, Father. They will know it's a trap!"

"We will try nonetheless."

"They won't fall for it, Father!" Boromir yelled. "They are smart enough so that even the captain does not know where he is! They might've taken him to the nearby farms or to Osgiliath…"

Boromir stopped, breathing hard, cursing himself under his breath. He pulled his hair, stomped around the throne room. He growled at himself.

"Boromir, what on earth is the matter with you?"

Boromir screamed, "I let him slip underneath my very nose! He's in Osgiliath! He was in the crate! How could I have been such a stupid fool! How could I have let him down and left him to the soldiers…its' the soldiers, they have him! They must've been angry about…" Boromir turned to his Father. If he'd been a dragon, the room would be up in flames. "Father how could you be so blind? Give them the money, you fool!"

Boromir fled out of the room with no explanation.

"Blind? Fool!" Denethor exclaimed. He rushed after his son, but he stopped when he saw a visitor. He knew he was coming, but this man wasn't famous for being on time. He arrived when he saw fit.

"Mithrandir."

"Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor," the rough voice of Gandalf the Grey greeted. "Things seem to be rather unusual around here."

Denethor shook. The presence of Gandalf alone made him angry. "Do not tell me that you have entered this city and have not heard of the panic that's arisen among my family."

Gandalf saddened. "Yes, I know. It is a horrible turn of events. How do you propose in finding him?"

"That, wizard, is none of your business. This is a family affair."

"Why, I've known Faramir since he was a child. I have grown rather fond of the boy." Gandalf's dark eyebrows twitched. "I would be of much use to you."

Denethor exploded. "Leave wizard! You are of no help here!" the Steward stomped off, hurt by Gandalf's offer of help, especially since he could read those eyes. Gandalf was insulting Denethor, putting him in his place. The wizard knew that Faramir's kidnapping was indirectly his father's fault. Boromir had called him blind, a fool even. His own son was turning against him. No one believed that he would help Faramir. He would, but he would do it his own way.

* * *

Faramir was relieved when his captors took off the blindfold. They had entered Osgiliath nearly an hour ago, but they had now placed him in a dark room, a torch the only source of light.

Faramir was dead tired. He could've closed his eyes and slept right there, but he was looking at his two kidnappers.

"We took _this _from Denethor? When you told me that you were kidnapping a son to teach Denethor a lesson, I thought you would've had enough sense to kidnap the older one."

"Boromir was inducted just this morning; he was in someone else's sight the whole day! We thought we could get ransom from this one, but obviously not."

Faramir looked down, ashamed that the whole palace staff knew his unworthiness.

"Besides, the little mouse overheard our planning. He would've warned his Father."

"So, what do we do with the child now?"

Faramir glanced up, fear filling his eyes. He couldn't move, even if he could, he wouldn't dare escape.

"We keep him in the attic of this house. No civilians should see them. The four of us besides the Cook and the captain in Minas Tirith know where the mouse is. If we leave him alone here, I don't think he'll make much noise. Until the captain tells us to continue, we stay put and stay low. Leave him."

The two soldiers left Faramir there. He wrestled more with the ropes, feeling the fragile skin of his wrists form blisters. He was thankful that they had left the blindfold off, but there wasn't much room for hope. The gag was still in his mouth. It tasted awful with each dreary, passing minute. His stomach called for food, but he didn't think he would receive any, even if he was promised food.

He was proven wrong when a soldier, a different one, entered the attic from the small door. He carried a morsel of bread and a wedge of sausage.

"It's about time you eat," he said, his beard shaking. "I'll take the gag off, but don't scream. No one's going to help you here."

Faramir looked down. That meant Boromir didn't know that he was in Osgiliath. The man's three fingers slid between the cloth and Faramir's cheek and tore it gently out of his mouth. Faramir kept his unspoken promise and didn't scream. He was too consumed with the thought of eating to think about help.

He gnawed at the bread the soldier held in his hand, swallowing it nearly whole. The sausage he took a little more time with because his stomach hurt. When he swallowed the last third of the sausage, he heaved, "Thank you."

The soldier smiled a small grin, and talked while he fastened Faramir's gag. "You're a good boy, Faramir. You're not a soldier, but you're a good boy. Now, be a good boy until your father pays for you, and stay quiet." He left.

Faramir rested his head against the wall. He wiggled his fingers, trying to reach the knot of the bind, but he couldn't reach it.

He brought his knees to his chest, and forcing pressure upward, tried to scratch his back along the wall, to stand up. Maybe if he could see out of the window above him, he could gather his bearings.

He continued the futile escape plan for about an hour. Then, he heard murmurs outside.

* * *

He had thought about it. He needed the other one. He had made his decision. This first plan was taking him nowhere. He needed to improvise. And improvise, he would.

Ceredon, with a new plan in motion, went to find his intended victim.


	8. Chapter 8

_First off, thank you all for your amazing reviews! They build me up and encourage me, even force me to write better, so thank you! Secondly, this chapter does have some mention of amputation. Nothing is overly described; I just thought that some of you would want to know in case you're squeamish. Thank you and enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 8

"Boromir! My lord Boromir!"

Boromir turned at the sound of his name as he saddled his horse. No other servants were present as they were all ordered to look for Faramir. "Captain Ceredon!"

"My lord, some of the men are talking. I grieve to tell you this news."

"What news?"

Ceredon looked painfully at the heir of the Stewardship. He looked downward, and then upward, as if refocusing after a horrible thought. "Some of my men are furious with your father with his negligence in changing the army's wages…"

"I have guessed that," Boromir interrupted.

"Some of my men are angry. I grieve to inform you that they have involved me in the plot. Some of the men took your brother to Osgiliath, to hold him hostage, to get even with your father."

Boromir's heart stopped. His temper snapped. He snatched Ceredon's collar and pushed him against the stable wall, frightening the horses. "If you are lying, I swear…"

"My lord, I swear I tell you the truth."

Boromir let him down. "Where in Osgiliath do they have him?" his voice reeked with pain.

"In one of the abandoned houses, I will take you there."

"I shall inform my father."

"No! The men said if they discovered that if the army came or anyone higher than a soldier was present, they'd cut off one of Lord Faramir's fingers and send it to your father as a warning."

Boromir's eyes became like hot fires. His face wreathed in flame. "I swear over my life, if they lay a hand on him…"

"They will not if we do exactly what I say. I know where they have him. They were foolish enough to tell me, thinking I would agree with them. We must approach Osgiliath in the dark of night. We can strike while they are asleep, take your brother, and go. I know the names of the soldiers involved. I will turn them in to your father when Faramir is safe."

"Why should I trust you? Weren't you the one to leave in anger when my father refused the proposition?"

Ceredon acted as if he had suffered a major blow, as if Boromir had ripped open a healing wound. "My lord, I ask for forgiveness for my outburst. Now, a child, your brother, is suffering torture in Osgiliath. This is the only way we may bend the rules and get him back without the torture."

Boromir couldn't rid the image from his mind. His brother's eyes were looking up at his captor, pleading, begging, and fearing. He was pinned down by at least two of them. One had his hand placed on a stump, Faramir's last finger extended out. The grueling, devilish man held a knife close to it. Faramir was pleading for mercy. When the blade was brought down, an agonizing scream of pain was all that Boromir could hear.

He would not let that happen. He'd rather be torn in half than see Faramir hurt.

"Alright, Captain. We'll do it your way. But we leave now."

"Excellent, your lordship."

* * *

Ceredon smiled as he mounted the horse while Boromir fretted over his brother. It had worked splendidly.

Now, he would have both of the sons. Even if the youngest didn't matter to the Steward, he was useful for luring Boromir into the trap.

His concocted plan was nearly spent.

* * *

Boromir hated riding in the dark of night. The full moon was his only light to guide his way. It set him on edge.

The whole ride, he couldn't stop thinking of Faramir. Every time he thought to focus on pleasant thoughts, he convinced himself that he would not. Not while his brother was in captivity.

As he thought of his brother, memories unavoidably sailed through his mind. He held back tears.

_"Boromir," Faramir asked his brother, "what was Mother like?"_

_It was one of Boromir's free afternoons that he promised to spend with his brother. They were shooting in the archery range. Boromir was thirteen, Faramir was eight. _

_Boromir knocked an arrow and drew. "I don't know. She was kind. She sung us to sleep at night."_

_"I remember the tunes she sang. They were lullabies."_

_Boromir nodded. "I'm too old for lullabies now." He shot, missing the target by a few inches. Boromir cursed under his breath. "I prefer the sword."_

_"Was she pretty?"_

_Boromir shrugged as he drew another arrow. Faramir was sitting on the side, watching his brother closely. "I don't know. She was as pretty as most women get I guess."_

_"Did she love me?"_

_"Stop asking such stupid questions."_

_"But I don't remember her!" Faramir whined with a sad tone. _

_It made Boromir want to answer him. "She was very beautiful. She was kind, loving, and compassionate. She loved music and writing things. You're right. Those were lullabies she sung to us. And she loved both of us."_

_Faramir smiled. "I'm glad she loved us. I'm glad that you remember her. You're all I have left of her."_

_Boromir shot the arrow. It landed a couple inches from the center. Boromir, because of Faramir's comment, felt a sudden feeling of love for his brother. He knelt down, grasped his brother's shoulders, and promised, "And I'll always be here, Faramir. I promise."_

Did Boromir now break that promise? He wasn't there to protect Faramir from being taken. Would rescuing his brother be enough to fulfill the oath?

* * *

They arrived in Osgiliath quietly, some guards asleep or starting to fall that way.

"This way, my lord."

Ceredon left their horses by the gate, made Boromir dismount and follow him across the stony streets. They dodged into alleys whenever a soldier marched through the streets, making Boromir wonder how his brother must've been suffering, under such cruel guards, however many there were.

"Ceredon, where's my brother?"

"In that tower, my lord," answered Ceredon, pointing to a two-story house. "We are almost there."

They flew across the street and Ceredon opened the door. "My lord, leave your weapons in the next room. They said any weapons and your brother will…"

"I know what they will do, Ceredon!" Boromir, helpless, unstrapped his belt and unsheathed his daggers, tossing them to the floor, the heirloom he received at Induction flying with them. His sword that his father gave him when he was fifteen was tossed along with them. "It is done."

"Good."

They climbed the stairs.

* * *

Faramir panicked when the murmurs he had heard entered the room.

Faramir saw the two soldiers enter the room.

"Be quiet, you snake!" one ordered, staying by the door.

The other stomped toward Faramir. With each step, Faramir grew more scared.

The knife his captor was holding was held at his neck. Faramir squeaked, whimpered, and shook. The soldier grabbed his locks of his auburn hair and pulled back. "Be quiet."

Footsteps clomped up the stairs. Faramir waited. He heard voices. The door opened and the guard attending the door leaned out.

* * *

Boromir watched as Ceredon touched the knob to the door leading to the upper room. "Remember, Boromir. Your brother's life is in one thousand silver coins."

"Yes, we received the ransom note. I want to see him."

Ceredon opened the door. A soldier stuck his face out and panicked. "Yes Ceredon?"

Boromir started when Ceredon snatched his soldiers and pushed him forward.

Ceredon rapidly ordered, "Let us in. We have him."

"What?" Boromir demanded as Ceredon and the other one hurled him inside.

Boromir's eyes fell instantly upon his bound brother, a knife pointed to his neck. His eyes were just as Boromir imagined they would be…only worse. Faramir pleaded, ignoring the gag, for help. It all sounded like frightened, sad cries.

"Faramir!" Boromir's voice cracked. Two tears slid down his face. His temper boiled, a dose of love and protection fueling adrenaline. "Get the knife away from him!" he shouted. He leapt for his brother, but four arms held him fast.

"Not so fast, your lordship!" Ceredon slurred.

Boromir snapped. He bellowed, "You were behind this the whole time! Don't you dare touch my brother!"

"Calm down, Boromir," Ceredon mocked.

A heavy metal object hit the back of Boromir's head.

The last thing Boromir saw that night was his brother looking at him.

_I'm with you now, brother. _


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Boromir smiled when it was his brother he saw when he awoke.

"Boromir!" Faramir exclaimed. His gag was removed. Boromir saw small cuts around his face.

Boromir cried, "Oh, you're alright!"

Boromir sat up, ignoring the pain all over his body, the chains around his wrists, and he brought his brother, who was also chained, into his arms. Faramir hugged his brother with all of his might. Boromir hugged all the tighter, not willing to let the brother he loved to death out of his sight.

"Faramir!" Boromir cried as they embraced. "Oh, you're safe! Thank goodness you're safe! I've never been happier to see you in my life, brother! Thank goodness!"

"I missed you, Boromir!" Faramir moaned. His voice suddenly kindled with hope. "I knew you'd come. I'm only sorry you're here with me."

Boromir released his brother. They untangled the chains and Boromir examined his brother. "Are you hurt at all? They didn't…they didn't hurt you? If they did I swear to you, I will…"

"Boromir, I'm not hurt, just sore."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

Boromir nodded, tears coming.

Faramir gasped. "Boromir?"

Boromir wiped his tears off his cheek. "Yes?"

"I've…never seen you cry before."

Boromir laughed. "I'm just happy you're all right! I've never been so happy in all my life!" Boromir again embraced his brother, holding him close. Nothing would tear them apart again. "I love you, brother! We're going to get out of this, I promise. I promise."

"I know," Faramir said, "but...I won't lie, Boromir, I'm scared."

Boromir chuckled lightly enough to cheer the mood. "I am too." Boromir kept Faramir in his arms.

Boromir thought of something. He didn't know how Faramir would react, but he tried anyway.

"How do you spell "extraordinary"?"

Faramir froze. Then he laughed. His brother did love him. And he would get them out of this.

* * *

The dawn peeked over the mountains to the East, as if it were marching from Rohan. Denethor stared at it unemotionally.

No one thought he felt anything with the latest news, but he did. He had a sour face on the outside, but his inside was being torn apart.

That morning a new message had been delivered to him.

_We have both of your sons. No tricks. We want one thousand silver coins by the end of the third sunset, or you see both of your sons dead. No tricks. If anything goes wrong, you see a body part with the next note. Your cooperation will determine their survival._

Denethor felt his blood boil. He took a vase next to the window and hurled it across the room.

It landed at Mithrandir's feet.

"Mithrandir!" Denethor bellowed.

Gandalf nodded in the respectful way he did. "I've heard Lord Denethor. I am so sorry."

"This is none of your concern."

"I know that your opinion of me is hardly…high, Lord Denethor," Gandalf said, "however, know this. You cannot fight this battle on your own. Your pride is on a high peak, Denethor, but now your sons are suffering its consequences."

"I am not responsible for my sons' disappearance!" Denethor coiled like a snake.

"No matter who is responsible, they face danger now. You love both your sons. I see it. Consider this: when a predator hunts down an infant animal for food, does not the parent of that infant fight with his life in order to get them back? Friends hardly help the mountain lion as he fights the Warg for protection of his cub. The mountain lion is alone. But you are not alone. I am here to be that friend, Denethor."

Denethor could've spat, but he restrained himself. "If you think pretty speeches will win my respect for you, then you are not as wise as they say." Denethor took a while to announce his next thought. Courage was needed and some pride was calling to be lowered to speak, however he told Gandalf, "But, I accept your help nonetheless."

Gandalf bowed. "I will inquire of the citizens, Steward. Men are more willing to answer a wandering wizard than a grieving father, if I may beg your pardon. I will report to you whatever facts I can find. Good day, milord."

Denethor abruptly nodded and returned to the view of his balcony. As he stared at the sun rising over the mountains, he thought of the last time he saw his beloved youngest, Faramir. He thought of the last words that his grown-up Boromir said. _Give them the money, you fool!_

As he did, he thought of the one person he swore to remember and to forget. The one woman he loved more than anything he ever had.

And it grieved him.

* * *

Gandalf the Grey strode through the halls of the Steward's mansion, politely nodding to those who offered him greeting. Saruman the White would have argued that his time would've been better spent researching the threat of Middle-Earth, hunting it down, discovering all he could about the Enemy. But he knew where It was.

A part of him worried over the Hobbits of the Shire. Frodo knew nothing of the horrors of the Ring. Yet, Gandalf had left Aragorn in charge of watching the Shire and the man was a skillful protector, the future king of Gondor, whom he would have to crown after the Ring was destroyed and Aragorn would need a queen... But no, Gandalf needed to focus on more pressing things at the moment. A thirteen year-old boy and his eighteen year-old brother were missing, kidnapped. Gandalf believed it was the smaller things that changed the course of the future, and Faramir was indeed small. He and his brother both had an important role to play in the battle that was unavoidable. Gandalf could sense it.

"Mithrandir!" People shouted to him, greeted him. All faces were but a blur, but one man stood out to him.

"Beregond!" Gandalf greeted. "How are you faring?"

Beregond beamed. "As well as a new father can be expected."

"Congratulations." Gandalf smiled merrily, and then regretted to move on to more somber topics. "I suppose that you have heard of Boromir and Faramir's disappearance?"

Beregond nodded sadly. "Boromir was so worried over his brother. The threat of his brother's death alone nearly killed the man. It's hard to believe that he is missing as well."

Gandalf scanned his immediate surroundings, ensuring that no watchful eyes were peeking or nosy ears were eavesdropping. "Beregond, do you know of anyone who would want to take the sons of Denethor? Anyone that would want to see them or their father, or all three, suffer?"

Beregond too checked his bearings. "Let us take a stroll, Mithrandir."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Boromir gathered from the sunlight peaking in that it was about noon when he next awoke.

He smiled at the memory of reviewing words and the Steward lineages with Faramir. They had fun joking and spelling and concocting memorable rhymes to remember their grandfathers. When they were finished, he allowed Faramir to sleep, his head resting on Boromir's lap, but that was around when three quarters of the night were spent.

It was now noon, and Faramir was not in the room with him.

"Faramir!" Boromir hissed. "Faramir!"

The chains that held Faramir's wrists were still strapped to the wall, but the chains were empty of a hostage.

Boromir panicked. "Faramir!" he shouted. "Guard! Guard!"

The burly man who was doorkeeper last night entered sourly. Boromir knew him by name: Garapen. "Keep quiet you idiot or I will gag you and make sure that with your bindings, you won't be able to move!"

"Where's my brother?"

"The Captain took him. That's all you need to know."

"Where is he?" Boromir demanded, pronouncing each syllable with the coldness of a death threat.

"He could be free, getting a meal, or be in another room. That's not for you to know."

"Take me to him!" Boromir demanded icily, shaking. "Now!"

"That's it!" Garapen exclaimed. He bounded in to bind Boromir more.

"Soldier! At ease!" Captain Ceredon snapped, just before he could reach the to-be-steward.

Boromir's eyes pierced Captain Ceredon, as if his eyes were arrows and a flank of them could kill his captor. Ceredon just stepped out of the way of the door. A boy was brought in, with shaggy, dark red hair. He was limp; conscious, but limp. His ankle was red and his body held more than one bruise.

"Faramir!" Boromir cried, taking his brother in his arms, careful for the wounds that coated Faramir. Boromir watched his brother grin at him as his wrists were again bound by iron.

"Enjoy your stay," Ceredon mocked as he left the room, the guards following.

Boromir waited until the doors were shut to speak.

"Faramir, what happened? What did they do to you?"

Faramir shuffled his body so he lay back against the wall, moaning. Boromir gently helped him, making sure his brother was comfortable. "Take it slowly, don't rush. That's it."

Faramir finally answered, "They took me out around dawn to the room downstairs. They-they gagged me and-and they beat me."

"What? Why? What did they want?"

Faramir leaned his head on Boromir's shoulder. "The location of the treasury. But that's all they want from me. They wanted me first but when they didn't get the ransom in twelve hours, they used me as bait for you, because everyone knows that Father loves you more than me. I'm sorry Boromir. If I were more careful and wasn't stupid enough to get kidnapped, you'd be alright. I'm sorry." Faramir's eyes got a little bit wet.

Boromir's anger surged. He didn't know if it was at his brother, his father, the lies, or his brother's heartless beatings. He didn't express anger now. His brother needed someone who stayed calm, level-headed. "Faramir, _nothing_ that's happened so far is your fault, alright? If it's anyone's, it's mine. I should've seen you in the cart."

Faramir started. "You didn't know and I couldn't have warned you. This may be surprising, you don't notice absolutely everything."

Boromir let a laugh escape. But it was short lived. He brought his brother to him, letting him rest on his shoulder. Boromir rubbed the wounds on Faramir's shoulders, and while he slept, looked at the ankle. It was probably sprained. He couldn't walk on it for very long. He massaged it, hoping that his father would come looking for them. He knew he would, but confidence wasn't his strongest emotion right now.

Boromir turned to Faramir, whom he laid on the ground. His peaceful, sleeping face gave him comfort. Boromir whispered, "We're going to get out of here, Faramir. I promise you. We will get out of here."

* * *

Gandalf waited patiently until Beregond led him out of ear's reach.

Finally, they were sitting across from each other in the storage area of the wine tavern.

"Isn't this where most soldiers come? Why tell me secrets here?" Gandalf asked.

"Because no one comes to the storage room," Beregond answered. "They all demand their ale from the counter. The poor tender becomes so agitated and fatigued some days."

Gandalf chuckled. "I can imagine. Now, you said that you have some information that I may give to Lord Denethor."

Beregond clasped his hands and twitched nervously. He looked down, avoiding Gandalf's eyes.

"Well, speak up man!"

Beregond looked directly at Gandalf. "How do you convince a father to do something?"

Gandalf pinched his bushy eyebrows together. "I have no children .Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

Beregond nodded. "Well, ask it."

Gandalf repeated, "How do you convince a father to do something?"

Beregond looked hard at the wizard. "To take my child or kill him in front of me."

Gandalf nodded understandingly. "I see. Whoever wants something from Denethor is doing it by brutalizing his sons."

"And a father would blame himself for his sons' beatings if he could."

"What has Lord Denethor done in these days to have Faramir be taken, along with Boromir later?"

Beregond tapped his fingers on the wooden barrel on which he sat. "Two days ago, the captain, Captain Ceredon, petitioned a raise in pay for the soldiers. I don't know all the details, or either man's reasoning, but Denethor declined. I hear that Ceredon left in a fury, which is to be expected. I hear that he is very greedy. He's tried this trick of asking for a raise to hoard money in for himself before. He's even coaxed a few young men to share his opinion."

"You believe it to be the captain of the army who has the boys as hostages?"

"As well as some men who are more loyal to their captain than their Steward. Gandalf, I am afraid that something catastrophic will happen. They have both sons, which meant double the leverage. I am mostly worried about Faramir."

"Is it because all believe that the Steward loves the oldest more than the youngest?" Gandalf asked, becoming angry.

Beregond looked puzzled. "That is a popular belief, but doesn't he?"

"Denethor loves both sons, equally. It is a misunderstanding of his behavior that started the rumor. Denethor will fight to the death to save both sons, not just Boromir."

Beregond nodded, fearful of Gandalf's temper. He knew in his heart that what Gandalf was saying was true, but it was hard to think that Denethor didn't favor Boromir over Faramir. Denethor had proven that fact since the day that Faramir was born. If the favoritism was the misunderstood behavior that Gandalf was speaking of, then Denethor was giving a mighty display. "I am sorry Gandalf. But Faramir is weaker than his brother. He has not been trained with the sword. I am worried that he will not be able to fend for himself."

Gandalf calmed. "Faramir will manage. He has the stubbornness of his brother and father. Now, to finding them. Where do you think they have them?"

Beregond shook his head. "I have no idea. Can't you use a spell to find out?"

Gandalf looked surprised. "There may have been Men dabbling in sorcery who would use such a careless and useless trick, but I am a wizard, and a responsible wizard at that. I cannot use that spell."

Beregond stroked is bearded chin thoughtfully for a long time. "My captain has faith in me, Gandalf."

Gandalf started. "What on earth do you mean?"

Beregond leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching the brim of Gandalf's pointy hat. "If I can convince Captain Ceredon that I'm on his side, I can get close to the boys and let them know a rescue plan is being made. I'd be a man on the inside."

Gandalf shook his head. "It's too risky."

"Mithrandir, I know both the Captain and Boromir personally. We may never get a chance like this again! We must take it now!"

"And if they discover your involvement with me and the Lord Denethor?"

"I'll risk it. A soldier's life is to be laid down for his leaders. I would be honoring my oath."

"You have a family to return to! If they discover…"

"My wife knows the sacrifice of being a soldier's wife, Mithrandir, when the soldier is on and off the battlefield. My son Bergil will take honor in knowing that his father died for a worthy cause."

Gandalf was convinced, though not agreed. "Alright. Come with me to the Steward's Hall. We will inform Lord Denethor and if he gives you the order, you will do as planned."

"And if he doesn't?" Beregond questioned.

Gandalf sighed and lit his pipe. "Then, we pray for a miracle."


	11. Chapter 11

_***This chapter's a little longer. There was a lot to cover! __ Enjoy!***_

Chapter 11

Denethor nodded. "You will have a short time, Beregond. They said they want the ransom by the third sunset or my sons are dead. We have a little more than two days now, but it may not be enough. Boromir said something about them taking Faramir to Osgiliath, and that may be where they have both of them. I have soldiers searching all of Minas Tirith all the time. If they are kept in separate places, we will know it. I am placing your post in Osgiliath so it may be easier for you to work undercover."

Beregond bit his lip. "But, my lord, when Captain Ceredon hears that _you_ have sent me, won't he be suspicious?"

Denethor looked hard at the soldier who volunteered help. "Make up something."

Beregond nodded.

Denethor's eyes spoke something that only fathers could see, something that Beregond, father for only a few months, could understand; a hate that could only be quenched if someone, the person who dared touch the child, suffered. "When you find them, report back to me."

"Of course milord," Beregond bowed. "Mithrandir," he bid goodbye.

Gandalf nodded. When Beregond had gone, he moved next to the Steward.

Denethor immediately spoke. "We both know that we do not agree on most terms, Mithrandir, but… I am grateful for your help in finding my children. I just can't believe that it has passed this way. Was I so stupid to not see anything?"

"You have only two eyes, Denethor. Even the wisest do not see every turn in life. In some cases, we never know which road is better until it is taken."

"Is that supposed to comfort me, Mithrandir?"

"Call it food for the soul."

Denethor again stared at the Pelennor fields, searching beyond the horizon for his sons. "Mithrandir, I request you leave."

There were times Gandalf admired the Steward. This was not one of those times. But he agreed, saying that he'd do more questioning, and left Denethor alone.

Denethor looked at the two proofs he had of his sons' kidnapping. Faramir's chest armor and Boromir's dagger sheath; the heirloom Denethor gave him at Induction.

He held both of them close, limping to the throne which he sat on. He held them tight.

"I haven't been the best father to either of you," Denethor lamented. "But I swear that I will see you both safely here. I've lived through this type of pain once. I will not live through it again! I've lost your mother; I won't lose you two now!"

* * *

When the guards came again, Boromir leapt up.

"Take me in Faramir's stead!" he demanded. "You have brutalized him enough, haven't you?"

Ceredon stared Boromir down. "I will not be ordered around by the pet of his father! Sit down!" he turned to the guard. "Take the youngest."

"No!" Boromir yelled. Faramir was too tired to stand. He had to be lifted.

As they unlocked Faramir's cuffs, he reassured, "Boromir, don't worry about me. They need us alive."

Ceredon slapped Faramir, a red mark appearing. "You don't tell me what I need."

"You pig! Don't touch him!" Boromir yelled. "Faramir!" He screamed as Faramir was taken down the stairs.

Ceredon threw Boromir to the side of the wall. He used the chains to bind Boromir's hands behind his back. He unbuckled his belt and gagged his superior. "You need to learn to be quiet, for your brother's sake!" Ceredon knelt down and looked Boromir in the eye. "I was going to take you, but because you were so nice about it, I took your brother instead. If you're quiet the next time, I might change my mind!"

Boromir thrashed at the chains behind him, hurling insults at Ceredon though he knew they wouldn't be heard.

Ceredon snapped, "You're just making it worse for your brother downstairs!"

The door was shut.

Boromir stopped thrashing and yelling. He leaned against the wall. More cursed tears drenched his cheeks. _Faramir, I'm so sorry! So sorry! I didn't mean anything! Faramir, forgive me!_

* * *

Faramir felt his hands be brought up to the suspended cuffs. They strapped him in. It was only Ceredon and another soldier, but Faramir felt the same amount of fear if it had been an Orc army.

"Alright, Faramir," Ceredon started. "You remember what happened from this morning. Tell me what I want to know."

Faramir was silent.

Ceredon coiled his fingers around Faramir's neck. "Tell me where the treasury is located."

Faramir looked hard at the captain, summoning more courage than he thought he had. "I'm surprised that my father hasn't given the location to the captain of the whole army. But no one trusts you. No one trusts someone who wants money with a bloodthirsty envy. No one trusts a devil snake!"

Faramir felt the stinging pain of a hit. It paraded across his cheek and into his nose. He felt blood trickle down.

"You have an uncontrollable mouth, just like your brother. Faramir, tell me where the treasury is, and this is all over. I will give you and your brother some fresh bread. How does that sound to you?"

Faramir's mouth watered. He longed for the crusty, moist sensation of bread. He longed for food in general. But he wiped the image from his mind.

"Having no bread is better than betraying my father and my brother."

Ceredon nodded to the second guard. Faramir was lifted from the ground as the soldier yanked on the chain. Faramir cried out as he felt something in his arm tear. His body swung.

"Now, now Faramir, you know what will happen to you if you don't cooperate. Where's the treasury?"

Faramir glanced at him. "It's underneath my bed."

Faramir felt another hit.

"Gag him!" Ceredon ordered.

Faramir let the man wedge the fabric between his teeth, knowing that he was powerless against so many things. When he felt the knot being tied around his head, he knew that it was over.

Ceredon walked around Faramir in a regal way. "Do you know what I told your father I'd do to you if he didn't pay up, and quickly? I hinted that I would kill you." Ceredon hit his face again. "If you squawk about the treasury, I'll reconsider that threat. You'll be safe, back in the mansion of your father, and I'll include some fresh bread for your return home. Just nod your head."

Faramir didn't nod. He stared at the ground.

"A man would look his enemy in the eye," Ceredon mocked. "How'd you like to explain to your father that you were weaker than an insect while here, ignoring his teachings?"

When Faramir didn't even glance upward, Ceredon hit him again. "You're a worthless embarrassment of a son. Drop him."

Faramir crumpled to the floor. His whole face was numb with pain. His arms ached. He forced himself to stare at Ceredon. The captain brought out a large bowl-like container. It was filled with water.

Faramir's eyes widened.

Ceredon mockingly smiled. "Bind his hands."

Faramir wanted to fight back, but he didn't. He knew that they wouldn't kill him.

Ceredon snatched Faramir's shirt collar. "Let's see how long you can live without breathing."

He dunked Faramir in.

Faramir held his breath. His lungs ached. He fought to lift his head up, but Ceredon held him fast. He kicked his legs and hit a body part. Something bound his feet. _No, no, no! _He mistakenly sucked in water.

Finally, Ceredon lifted him out. Faramir sucked in breath and coughed. He filled his lungs with the luxurious air.

"Would you like to tell me where it is now?"

Faramir breathed, closed his eyes. He wouldn't say anything.

His face felt water around it again.

Faramir refused to remember the next hour. It caused him too much pain. He was relieved when they unbound his hands and feet before they threw him back in the attic-like room.

As he was brought through the door, he longed to hear his brother's voice, but he found out, when he was chained to the wall, that his brother was gagged and bound.

"You two are going to separate locations soon," Ceredon slithered. "Better "say" your good-byes now!"

The door slammed shut.

Faramir used his hands to tear the gag from Boromir's mouth. It was tight, but he ripped it out.

"Faramir, don't worry about the chains!" Boromir protested, but his brother persisted.

Faramir couldn't pick the locks but he untangled the wrapped-around pattern across Boromir's wrists. Boromir untied Faramir's gag immediately.

"Are you alright?" Faramir asked, worried.

Boromir grasped Faramir's face. He looked into those green eyes. Faramir was wet from the shoulders up. His face was swelling. His cheek was forming a black bruise. Blood came from his nose. Faramir was whimpering helplessly as he tried to discretely rub his shoulder. He looked like he was about to cry. _What did they do?_

Faramir noticed the look in his brother's face. "I'm fine Boromir, I promise." He threw himself onto his brother, enjoying and treasuring the hug that came after.

Boromir kept Faramir in his grasp, hugging his shoulders. "What did they do? If it's too horrible, don't tell me…but Faramir…I need to know."

Faramir stayed where he was. His voice held no emotion. "They hit me. Then they tried to drown me."

"What?"

"I'm fine. They allowed me to breathe in between the drowning."

Boromir hesitated when Faramir stopped there. "What else happened?"

"They hit me. They yanked me back up here. Boromir, I'm fine."

Boromir brought his brother closer to him. "I just don't want to see you hurt. But now, I feel powerless to protect you.

Faramir bit his lip. His brother had always given him unconditional love. Sure, he wanted time to himself a lot, but the love for his little brother was evident. Boromir was always the one to defend him against Denethor. He couldn't live without his brother. He wouldn't want to try.

Faramir choked, "Do you think what Ceredon said about putting us in separate locations was true?"

Boromir hated saying it. "Probably, yes."

Faramir cried, hugged his brother tighter. "I don't want to leave you. I don't want to be separated again."

Boromir nearly started crying. He was almost ashamed that he didn't. "Don't worry. We'll see each other again."

"What if we aren't?" Faramir sobbed, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

Boromir made Faramir look at him. "Faramir, listen to me. We will see each other again! I promise you!"

Faramir whimpered still. Everything was being taken from him. He slowly laid on his brother and fell asleep. Boromir let him sleep there, like most big brothers would.

* * *

Beregond marched with his battalion to Osgiliath. He went over in his mind again and again what he was going to say, what he was going to do, how he was going to convince Ceredon that he was on his side. It wouldn't be easy, but he was willing to do it to bring the captors of his masters to justice.

They marched in, Ceredon watching them with a suspicious look on his face. "Why is this battalion here?"

Beregond had rehearsed his speech. Now it was time to put it into practice. "Lord Denethor ordered us to regroup in Osgiliath. We need to prepare for an oncoming Mordor Orc attack."

"Where did he get the impression of an Orc attack?"

"The Steward knows what to expect. The Orcs will move to attack Osgiliath and then Minas Tirith. He knows that we are the final standpoint against the Orcs. They will come."

Ceredon nodded. "Form your ranks! Keep a sharp eye out."

The many guards marched to their posts. The pairs of eyes on the brave men were all on one thing; the mountains of Mordor, expecting an attack.

But Beregond's eye was watching another target. Captain Ceredon and a few other soldiers, a few acquaintances of Beregond, gathered in a tight corner. They were discussing something, something that Beregond was nearly sure about.

He needed time to get Ceredon to trust him, but he didn't have time. Boromir and Faramir could be anywhere in the city. Boromir would not so carelessly give up on escape unless he was in considerable danger. Faramir was a strong boy, small, but strong. He would fight for his life honorably, as Gandalf had said.

When Ceredon left the men, Beregond discretely followed him. Lord Denethor had told him to lie, and lie he would, but he would also keep the oath he swore when he became a soldier. He would fight for his lords' survival, to the death.

"Captain Ceredon!" Beregond called as he raced after his superior.

Ceredon turned, looking annoyed yet concerned. "What is it, Beregond?"

Beregond inhaled. This would take skill. "Thank you for standing up to the Lord Denethor as you did. Our families are starving and that snake doesn't consider it worth anything."

Ceredon twitched. "Since when have you been known to hate Lord Denethor?"

Beregond answered hotly, "Ever since he became Steward."

Ceredon almost chuckled. "Then you are a better actor than most soldiers in the service. You should have been the jester. That still does not answer my question. Why do you hate Lord Denethor?"

"He is Lord Denethor. Is there a reason?"

Ceredon evilly smiled. "I like you. You're timid, but I like you as a soldier. Many people hate Denethor."

"Sir, I'd like to be of help, in any way I can."

"With what?"

"Your stance suggests that you are planning something against the Denethor. I'd like to help."

Ceredon eyed him. "Would you?"

Beregond was outwardly calm while, in his soul, he was horrified at the stare. "Of course I would. I am a soldier of Gondor as well."

Ceredon laughed wickedly, almost a chuckle that spoke of seeing right through his associate's eyes. "You may be a soldier, but I still need to know your willingness to help."

Beregond nodded, not sure if his captain was leading him to the princes or not.

"Swear it."

"Swear what?"

"That you will help me!"

Beregond kept his face straight. He couldn't swear that he would help Ceredon. He would be betraying his Steward and princes. He formed his words carefully, "I swear to you that I will do my duty to the best of my ability."

Ceredon nodded. "Alright, then you fight for liberation."

Beregond nodded. _Of Boromir and Faramir._

Ceredon ordered, "Come to me at sunset. Meet me at the second house down the fifth street."

"What is the plan, captain?"

"You will find out when you meet me there at sunset. If someone comes in Osgiliath saying that what Denethor needs to do is done, the plan will be forfeit, but I will still need your help. You will get your share of the reward. You can buy your little boy a toy, get yourself more food."

"Thank you."

When Ceredon left him, Beregond looked down the street in question. He'd have to wait to free the boys if they were even there. For all he knew, he was transporting eggs and ham.

This would require patience, and he didn't have much time.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Truth be told, I have no idea about Beregond's family, other than Bergil's name. The name of his wife and other facts are just my imagination flying __ **_

Chapter 12

"First sunset," Gandalf murmured as he sat outside in the gardens. Gardens often calmed him. He supposed that was why he loved The Shire, not just because of his dear friends that lived there. But he shook his mind of the little friends he left behind and focused in the present.

Why was Denethor such a fool? He had two more sunsets to deliver the ransom, and probably less than that if Beregond was discovered. Gandalf shouldn't have had let Beregond go along with the plan. He was a fool. Well, not a fool, just a wishful thinker. Not a wishful thinker, just a hopeful wizard.

"Mithrandir!" a gentle voice called.

"Ah!" Gandalf beamed as he saw the mother and child. "Freyda, wife of Beregond! Is this the newborn?"

"Yes. His name is Bergil."

"Well-respected name." Gandalf smiled as he allowed the infant to toy with his large finger.

Freyda smiled sweetly. "Will you please tell me something, Mithrandir?"

"What are we discussing?"

Freyda shook her reddish yellow hair as she bounced her baby on her hip. "I do not wish to be rude, but I believe I should know. Some of my husband's companions saw him speaking with you yesterday."

"Yes, we spoke briefly."

"Well, I wanted to know why Lord Denethor has sent my husband's battalion to Osgiliath. I was wondering if you'd know."

"I am sorry, my dear lady. I cannot tell you."

Freyda nodded. "I thought as much. Wizards are very queer folk."

Gandalf grinned. "We are often puzzled by the race of Man's response to certain situations."

"Well, are you surprised by mine?"

"Not at all, dear lady. I understand completely."

Freyda smiled, nodded, bounced her big baby boy, and left Gandalf with a content farewell.

Gandalf huffed, felt the pouch secure to his belt, and smoked weed from the South Farthing. The Shire had many offers, but this one was the best he had found, other than several Hobbits who proved to be good friends.

But, at present, he remembered a small Gondorian boy. Faramir was his name. He was just a child when Gandalf first saw him. Faramir would spend the morning slaying dragons, hunting trolls, and visiting Middle-Earth from the stories of traders passing through. When Gandalf arrived, the boy saw a whole new world in the eyes of Gandalf the Grey. He made Gandalf tell him stories about every place the wizard had visited. When Faramir first heard of Hobbits, the child couldn't believe his ears.

"_Are there really people that don't grow past four feet?"_

"_I have seen them with my own eyes. They love my fireworks."_

"_I do too! Tell me stories about Hobbits!"_

_Gandalf didn't need to think about it. "My friend's great-great-great-great-great uncle fought in a battle against goblins. With a might twist of his arm, the Hobbit's sword sliced the goblin king's head clean off. It sailed one hundred yards and rolled into a rabbit hole. The battle was won. And the game of golf was invented at the same time._

_Faramir laughed merrily, rolling over in his chair._

_Boromir, who seldom listened to Gandalf's tales, sat at the foot of his brother's chair. The lad was only nine, but he looked regal enough to take the throne of stewards. Boromir shook his head and said, "He's just making it up, Faramir."_

_Gandalf chuckled. "Even if I did, all stories deserve a little exaggeration."_

Gandalf smiled at the memory. But the happiness was short-lived. He received a calling, a hunch, something that told him his help was needed. He rushed to aide.

* * *

Even if the Steward was required to give an explanation for why he entered the treasury, the attendant didn't need one to know why.

The Steward held his torch high as he walked through the room stuffed with gold and coins. Only he, his sons, and a few trusted guards knew the location of the treasury room. The location of all the citizens' taxes was not a subject ready to be pronounced in the map of the Steward's home.

He ordered his attendant to count one thousand coins an hour ago. He was pleased when his loyal servant had numbered the ransom.

"Here you are, Lord Denethor. One thousand coins are in the bag."

"Very good." Denethor nearly collapsed under the weight. He could lift it, but the sudden weight was surprising.

Denethor left without a word. He marched through the corridors of his home without a word. He did not say hello to anyone, nor did he receive any greeting. He kept his eyes forward, stark, and attentive. The last words of his youngest echoed. Murmurs of what the soldiers were going to do. Was he such an uncaring father that he didn't listen to his child's warning?

Boromir's final words also haunted him. _"Father how could you be so blind? Give them the money, you fool!"_

Now, they were both missing. It was Denethor's fault. Not because he didn't give more money in the soldier's income, but because he was too arrogant, too blinded, too…he didn't know how to describe himself.

Denethor flew on a brown cloak, one with a hood so deep it nearly hid his face. Thoughts on his sons, he marched through the back alley ways of the city and avoided the grimy pools of the outside as he reached the hole in the gate. It was clever of the kidnappers, now that Denethor had thought of it, to demand the ransom here. It was deserted. Not even a crow cocked its head.

He took a deep breath. He was taught and full-heartedly believed that surrender was not an option. Whenever humiliation plagues you, you never back down; it is a disgrace. But more than Denethor's good name was at stake.

His sons' lives depended on this money. He would not blindly ignore that fact and allow his pride to rule over him, telling him that the threats of a soldier didn't matter.

They did matter. Any threat against his sons was taken as a threat against him.

He shoved the money into the weakness of the wall, half-expecting his sons to appear before him, unharmed. Just relieved to see him…at least, he hoped they would be relieved to see him. He wished Boromir had forgiven him partially and that Faramir would be happy to see him again…but why would either of them do any of those things?

Denethor stiffened when he felt the ice cold threat of a broadsword's blade against his chin. The blade forced him to turn around, and he soon stared at a soldier with a handkerchief tied across his face.

"Very good, milord," the dark culprit mocked. "My employer will be most pleased."

"Who is your employer?" Denethor coldly ordered. "Where are my sons?"

"Be patient, Denethor. My boss prefers his money to be delivered to him first."

"You said that my sons would be delivered to me alive when I gave you the ransom!" Denethor shouted.

"Yes, we said they'd be returned, but we said nothing about when, though it will be soon. If you're worried about the sword, don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. It's just that my employer would like to see your face when you see your sons…bound…gagged. So…you will naturally need to come with me."

"I am going nowhere."

"Not even to see your sons? You need to come with me, _milord_. In case you haven't noticed, you can't really put up a fight."

Denethor cursed himself for not bringing a weapon. Why did it slip his mind?

"Move along, Steward."

"Never."

The soldier wound up the sword, but then dropped it. Something had hit the back of his head. His eyes were glossy. It was only when the object hit his head again, after he fell, that Gandalf the Grey was revealed, his staff the object in question.

"Mithrandir!" Denethor exclaimed.

Gandalf hummed a sigh of satisfaction, looking at the moaning body of the soldier who nearly attacked his steward.

"What were you doing?" Denethor demanded.

Gandalf looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows to the brim of his pointed hat. "I'm sorry, did you wish to be injured by the sword, or make a daring escape on your own?"

Denethor would've said something insulting. He had practically a whole line of insults on the tip of his tongue, waiting to jump off, but he relented. Insulting the one thing that would get his sons back to him was unwise.

The culprit groaned. Denethor ripped the disguise off, revealing a new soldier, one that could be easily persuaded to do such a daring, suicidal crime.

Denethor snatched his collar. He yanked him upward. He hissed, "Where are my sons?"

The man, dazed, looked tiredly at his superior. "I just want to say, technically, you haven't delivered the ransom yet. They're lives are still in danger."

Denethor punched him. Blood trickled down the man's nose. "As I've noticed. Where are they?"

The man smiled. "They're dead in two days. Because the only way he's going to know that you paid, is if I deliver the message. But because I'm lightheaded, I don't think anyone's going to deliver the message."

"You will tell him and then you will die!" Denethor growled. He coiled his fingers around the man's throat. "Where are they?"

Gandalf calmly announced, "If I were you, young man, I would tell your superior what he needs to know, before you see the full extent of his anger."

The soldier looked into Denethor's cold, blood-hungry, revenge seeking eyes. "They are in an abandoned, secluded tower in Osgiliath. That's all I'm saying."

"Say more, you pig!" Denethor bellowed.

"I will not."

Denethor wound up, ready to beat the man out of his senses.

"Denethor!" Mithrandir caught the fist. "Hitting him will not make him talk. It will only silence him more."

Denethor bit his lip. He leapt off of the villain and charged back to the palace.

"Where are you going, my dear fellow?" Gandalf asked.

"That is none of your concern!" Denethor snapped as he glanced over his shoulder.

Gandalf nodded. He whispered, "If you are going to do something foolhardy, which you do not need to be a wizard to guess, I believe that it is a concern of mine." He tied the captor's hands with a coil rope and led him away to the dungeon.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_*I am horrible with making up names so please bear with me! Thank you!*_

Faramir was roused from sleep on Boromir's shoulder when the soldiers came next. The moonlight shone from the window, proving it to be late at night.

Boromir was awake at the sound of a creaking door. He instinctively guarded Faramir with his arm.

It was Ceredon and Garapen. They stared at them. Garapen held two, long, thick pieces of rope and a piece of cloth.

It was time.

Faramir felt the stab of fear return. It tore his heart apart. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. He grasped Boromir's hand, squeezing it tight. Boromir let him.

"Oh come now," Ceredon soothed sarcastically. "Saying good-bye to each other shouldn't be that hard. Let's go, Boromir."

"No!" Faramir pleaded. "Please! Please, no!"

"Shut up, child!" Ceredon aimed his fist at Faramir.

Boromir hit Ceredon. "Leave him alone!"

Garapen hit Boromir, the impact sending the prince to the ground. They pinned him. Faramir tore at them desperately, but he was of no concern to them. They unlocked Boromir's chains, bound his hands and feet, gagged him, and stood him up.

"Will you get his feet?" Ceredon asked Garapen.

"Of course."

"Stop it!" Faramir cried. "Let him go! Let him go!"

"I said shut up!" Ceredon yelled. He kicked Faramir in the gut, tuning out the cold cries of Boromir. The prisoner bucked his feet and thrashed around in his enemies' grasp.

"Oh, I understand!" Ceredon cried with feigned concern. "You will let us do nearly anything to you, as long as your little brother stays safe! Is that it?"

Boromir looked at the captain hard, his eyes speaking more hatred then most men could possess. Faramir was smart enough and depressed enough to remain silent.

Ceredon smiled. "I thought so. Come on."

Faramir cried and yelled as his helpless brother was robbed from his sight. He cursed them as they shut the door, leaving their first victim in captivity.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried not to think about where his brother was going. Why Boromir? Why didn't they take him? He wouldn't have worried about Boromir if he were the one taken in his stead. But he realized that if he had been taken, Boromir would've been the one to be plagued with worry.

He pulled at the chains, wanting not only to be free, but to strangle everyone of the pigs involved in his kidnapping. How long had he been here? He figured he was kidnapped around two days ago, but it felt longer.

As he scraped his hand across the chain, he discovered something that nearly made him jump up and laugh for joy.

"The bolt holding the chain to the wall is loose!" he whispered hoarsely. "Why didn't we see it before?"

He ferociously tore at the link, his anger and depression strengthening him. He prayed every second that he could get free, that he could see his brother again.

Just like Boromir promised.

* * *

Boromir stopped thrashing at Ceredon and Garapen like a hopeless, brainless animal. He realized that it was hopeless, futile to put up a fight. He was taught by his father to never surrender, but he didn't know what to do now.

They dropped him next to a cart.

"Time to prove yourself!" Ceredon snarled at someone. "Here's a knife. Cut him."

Boromir looked up to who Ceredon was speaking to.

_Beregond? Beregond!_ Beregond, the man that had consoled him, comforted him, served under him was behind this? This was the traitor!

"You said that you have no respect for your lords. Cut him," Ceredon ordered.

Beregond took the knife. He knelt down to Boromir, who was lying on his back. Boromir wrestled in the binds, but Beregond managed to slice all the way down Boromir's upper arm. Boromir bit the gag to keep from screaming.

"It is done."

"Good. Paradon will show you what to do from here on. We need to keep him as far away from his father as possible. It's alright if he gets the youngest one back, but his favorite is staying hidden. Do you understand Beregond?"

"Yes sir. Will the men see us?"

"No. They should be watching Mordor to the East for the attack; they won't be looking to the West." Boromir just heard the whisper between captain and Paradon. "Keep him well-guarded in Ithilien. Keep an eye on Beregond."

Boromir scowled at Beregond as he was lifted by the bearded scum. When Beregond had him in hearing distance, he spoke so softly and so fast Boromir just barely caught the message.

"Your father sent me to find you. Please don't think I've betrayed you, milord! Forgive me!"

Boromir sighed out of relief. They threw him into the cart, spread a blanket over the wagon so that no one would see the Steward's son, and shortly after, Boromir felt the wagon jump to a start, ponies' hooves pounding. He thought about kicking off the blanket, but decided against it. If Beregond was here, then either he or his father had a plan.

Ceredon said they were taking him to Ithilien. Beregond had to stop when they were out of the sight of the watch guard of Osgiliath. He just had to. He needed the fastest, shortest way possible to get back to Faramir. In Beregond's hands, Boromir knew he was safe, but Faramir was still with the pig-headed slime.

Boromir promised to get Faramir home. Boromir would keep that promise.

* * *

Faramir laughed when the chain finally broke about an hour after his brother was taken. His arms ached and his hands were blistering, dead skin guarding sores, but he didn't care. He swung the chain around, testing how heavy it was in his hand. It was perfect for him. Finally! A weapon he could use!

"Garapen! Garapen! Garapen! Garapen! I want food! Garapen!" He called the guard's name, hoping to irritate him so he would open the door…and fall unconscious with Faramir's blow. "Garapen! Garapen! Garapen! Garapen!"

The door flew open and Faramir readied himself.

"What do you want, you useless-ah!" Garapen realized he was unchained too late.

Faramir swung. The chain hit Garapen's neck. He buckled to the floor, gasping like a fish for air. Faramir swung more, his anger boiling.

He swung and swung, beating Garapen, taking all of his hate and revenge out on this one man.

Finally, he stopped.

Garapen was moaning, crying, gasping for breath. Faramir stared at the chain which he beat his captor with. His eyes rapidly switched between the weapon and the victim. He couldn't do it. He couldn't beat this man after he had been beaten so ruthlessly. He couldn't be the pigs his kidnappers were.

He bolted down the stairs, not looking back. He bolted out the door and nearly ran to the nearest soldier he saw, but remembering that he didn't know who was on his side, he ducked in the nearest alley. He saw the soldiers march past him, reporting for duty. He sucked in his gut, not breathing. He didn't know who to trust. He couldn't throw his life into the hands of someone who wanted the coins. But he couldn't wait around in case Garapen came out looking for him.

He ran.

* * *

It was an hour before Beregpnd even considered acting. Osgiliath was just a speck on the horizon. He needed to be out of the watch of the tower guard before he even batted an eye at his partner, who was driving the cart.

"Would you like me to drive, Paradon?" Beregond finally asked when he was absolutely certain of no watchful eyes.

"Yes, of course. Thank you." Paradon handed the reins over like cautiously, remembering what Ceredon told him.

"My pleasure," Beregond said. He held the reins in one hand and unsheathed his sword with the other.

"Beregond, what are you doing?" Paradon worriedly asked.

"Don't worry, this will be only a little less painful than being hit in the head with a hilt. Which is what it is."

Beregond, quicker than comprehension, stood up and hit Paradon's forehead with the metal hilt of his sword. Paradon, defenseless, buckled down and fell out of the cart, unconscious.

The horses neighed, worried. Beregond rushed to them, calmed them, and made them stay put. He ran to the back of the cart, pulled off the sheet, looking at an impatient brother.

"Boromir, hold on," Beregond ordered as he untied his feet and hands. Boromir ripped the gag out of his mouth and bolted off of the cart.

"Milord!" Beregond cried as he tackled the warrior to the ground. "What are you doing, milord!"

"They still have Faramir, Beregond!" Boromir cried. "We have to hurry."

"Milord, stop! Milord!" Beregond wrestled for control. "Boromir! Hastiness will not rescue your brother. Be calm!"

Boromir finally took a deep breath. He let his head fall to the ground. Beregond let go of him, and he didn't move an inch.

"Now, we will rescue your brother. Milord, with all due respect, I will work better if you return to Minas Tirith. They will not see one man, but they will see two men."

Boromir leapt up. He hissed in a breath and pinched his lips together. "I won't go back to my father unless my brother is by my side. Do you hear me?"

"I understand, milord, but two grown men cannot be stealthy enough to sneak into that building to rescue your brother."

"Then you're going back to Minas Tirith, not me!" Boromir cried. "I promised him that I'd come after him. I told him that I'd get him out of there! Beregond, I need to go!"

Beregond saw the pain in his superior's eyes. He nodded. "As you wish, milord. Just let me bandage this wound." Beregond paled and started shaking. "Oh, milord, forgive me! I have struck you!"

"Beregond! You saved my life and now you're saving my brother's. I promise you, you will be rewarded!"

"Thank you, milord." He tore off a strip of cloth from his tunic and started wrapping it around Boromir's arm. When it was finished, Beregond started to head for Osgiliath.

"One moment." Boromir took the ropes and gag from the back of the cart and started tying the unconscious criminal.

Boromir looked to Beregond. "Poetic justice."

Beregond nodded.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Denethor rode with all speed to Osgiliath. It had passed the middle of the night. Beregond was doing his best to rescue Denethor's sons, but the distressed father didn't care. When he spoke with the soldier who demanded ransom, he had realized the full extent of the threat to his sons. He finally let himself believe that these were not careless criminals doing something daring for money. The leader of the kidnapping, whoever he was, knew what he was doing.

And Denethor would kill the scum when he found him.

* * *

Faramir cuddled the dangling chain close to his chest. He winced every time it clanked and he let his heart beat again when he wasn't caught.

He tiptoed to the stables, praying every second that no one found him. No guards were on duty. He took advantage of roll call and raced inside. He picked what looked to be the fastest horse and slid a saddle from its shelf. He placed it on the steed's back and buckled it, all the while whispering to it.

"I know you're scared of me. But I'm scared too. We will make it out of here. I need to get back to...to..."

That was when Faramir discovered that he didn't have a plan. His immediate thought was to run to Minas Tirith, but the image of his father and the conversation they would have haunted him.

_"You mean to tell me that you left your brother in the hands of those vermin?"_

_"I didn't know where they took him! Staying there would've just placed us in more danger."_

_"You abandoned your brother. You betrayed him. You left him to die."_

_"No!"_

_"You let your brother die!"_

Faramir bit his lip and shook the image away, thankful that when he opened his eyes, he saw the horse's white neck.

"Let's go, boy," Faramir instructed.

He leapt onto the back.

Hands dragged him down again.

"No!" Faramir cried. A hand slapped across his mouth and an arm trapped his abdomen, like when he was robbed from his home.

"Now, Faramir, don't struggle," the villainous voice of Ceredon slithered. "We can do this easily, or you can make things extremely difficult for yourself."

Faramir licked Ceredon's hand and bit it. The captain growled in pain. Faramir shot out of the hold and grabbed the nearest weapon he saw, not thinking of the chain. He gripped the iron bar and poised for attack, like Boromir had secretly taught him.

When Ceredon saw Faramir , he stroked his black beard, chuckling. "Do you really think that you will be able to fight me?"

Faramir shook his head of doubts. "You'll give me the key to the shackles, you'll tell me where my brother is, get him to me, and then you'll let us go!"

Ceredon looked at him mockingly. "You think that you'll kill me if I don't? You didn't kill Garapen. How did you think that I found you?"

Faramir brought the bar higher. "Do it now!"

"Are you still trying to win? I thought two days of being helpless would show you just how pathetic you are! No wonder your father hasn't paid the ransom yet. He doesn't care for you."

Faramir bit his lip and shook his head. "That's a lie! Shut up pig! Tell me where my brother is, get me out of these chains and let us go!"

Ceredon smiled mockingly. He pulled out a knife. "I'll tell you where your brother is, but I don't think that you want to join him."

Blood was on the dagger.

Faramir snapped. _No, no, no, no! He's lying! He's…no… _

Faramir swung.

He missed by an inch. The captain ducked.

Ceredon ripped the bar from Faramir`s grasp. It slipped through the teenager`s fingers like butter. Ceredon hit Faramir`s head.

He fell to the ground, hitting the dirt with a thud. He cried out in pain and brought his hands to his forehead, soothing the pain.

He felt more than saw Ceredon kneel down to him.

"You just made things very difficult for yourself."

Faramir blinked himself away into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Tighter! I don't want the maggot getting away!"

Faramir awoke to that order. His eyes fluttered open. And he couldn't move. He panicked.

The room was different and darker. There were no windows. A torch rocked slowly, placed in the extremely loose iron holder. Faramir could tell he was in a different building entirely. He was tied to a wooden beam. And Ceredon's order was true. The ropes were tighter. He had almost no movement. His hands were tied behind the beam, his legs were tied, his ankles, and chest. He was gagged. Ceredon had shown his true cruelty.

"I said his hands tighter! He gets his hands free, he's gone!" Ceredon snapped, eventually moving to scratch the thick rope into Faramir's wrists himself.

When Faramir had been secured, Ceredon laughed wickedly. Faramir tugged at the ropes, mentally cursing Ceredon.

"I'd tell you to stop, but I don't think you'll be going anywhere anytime soon." Ceredon left, Garapen, bloody and bruised, limping behind him.

Faramir was silent and he heard the murmurs, "No one's going to look here; no one's going to hear him. Don't bother guarding him."

"Yes sir."

Faramir was again left alone. He struggled, trying to get free, to leave, to flee, and to just be safe.

It wasn't more terrifying than the first time he was left alone. He would never forget the moment that he had been forced to be quiet, regardless of the gag, when Boromir called his name, wanting to find him. He couldn't stop his brother from being taken, but his brother had done so much to save him. And now that same brother…the one he loved…he was…

_The knife. The blood._

He felt tears roll down his cheeks. He didn't care about the pain in his arms, the cramping in his legs. He didn't care if he couldn't speak or if he never saw his father, Minas Tirith, the White Tree, or anything familiar again.

His brother was dead. His dependable, strong, brave, big brother was dead.

Dead.

* * *

Denethor stopped his horse in Osgiliath. He earned a few surprised glances and hurried, worried gasps, but he was looking for a loyal soldier and two sons. Nothing else mattered to him.

"Captain Ceredon!" Denethor called into the city. "Where is your captain?" He dismounted the horse.

A soldier in his mid-fifties marched up to his Steward, instructing two squires to lead the horse away. "Milord Denethor, the Captain ordered us not to bother him. Are we to assume, Lord Denethor that you're to lead us in the battle we expect from the Orcs?"

"What battle?"

"Milord!" a man hastily walked up in the light of the dawn. It was Captain Ceredon. "You ordered Beregond's battalion to Osgiliath."

Denethor boiled at the sight of the suspected kidnapping leader, as Beregond had informed him, but kept his head. The attack from Mordor must've been the story Beregond concocted. _Very clever._

"Yes, but we are also focusing on finding the missing lords."

"I'm sorry, milord?" Ceredon asked.

Denethor tensed. He bellowed into the city. "Anyone who knows where my sons are, speak now!"

Silence. Denethor glared at the few who dared give him looks of surprise, judgment, and mockery.

"Does anyone know where my sons are being held?" Denethor shouted. "He who knows and doesn't answer will have his inners spilled out for everyone to see. You will die a horrid death. Where are you?"

A soldier, young, Boromir's age, just sworn in, maneuvered discretely through the crowd.

But Denethor caught him.

"You there!"

The soldier punched guards in his way, and bolted out of Osgiliath.

Denethor noticed that Ceredon didn't move an inch. Denethor snapped, "Captain! After him!"

Ceredon bolted after the fugitive, barking orders at his men. Soon, a panting, distressed, frightened, guilty soldier knelt before Denethor. Denethor snatched his hair, pulling his face up, making his eyes stare directly into his.

"Let's go." Denethor made the soldier stand up and he dragged him into the dungeon a long walk away.

Outside of the door, Denethor turned to Ceredon. "The door will be locked while we are in there. No one is to disturb us."

"Milord..."

"Stay outside!" Denethor yelled. He threw the soldier into the room, bolted the door shut and hit him.

Denethor hoarsely whispered, "You are going to tell me now! Is Captain Ceredon behind the kidnapping of my sons?"

The soldier stared at his lord, ready to belt him out of revenge, but he didn't have the bravery.

"I'm going to ask you again!" Denethor snarled. "Is Captain Ceredon behind the kidnapping of my sons?! Your life depends on answering this question!"

The soldier's knees buckled. He collapsed to the ground. "I will say this: Boromir is being brought to Ithilien. Faramir is still in the city."

"Where in the city?"

"I don't know."

Denethor took off his cloak. His armor was strapped to him. He unsheathed his sword. "Where in the city is Faramir?"

"I swear to you, you pig, I don't know!"

"Who is leading this?"

The sword rested on the soldier's neck, and he panicked. "Captain Ceredon! Captain Ceredon! Now, you worthless pig, let me live!"

Denethor ignored the comment. He unlocked the door. Instead of turning to Ceredon, he turned to the second in command, one whom he trusted; he never had trusted Ceredon, ever since his oath. "Arrest this man for the kidnapping of the lord's sons." When the commander left, Denethor glared at Ceredon with a stare colder than ice. "Let's take a walk."

"It's Mithrandir!" many voices shouted.

Indeed, when Denethor turned his head, he saw the Grey Man riding on a magnificent white stallion into the courtyard of Osgiliath.

Gandalf leapt off of the horse and into the presence of Captain and Steward.

"Ceredon," Gandalf immediately spoke, "I must speak with the Steward. Leave us now. And see that Shadowfax is properly housed."

Ceredon nearly objected, but the look Gandalf the Grey shot at him forced him to walk away and do as he was told.

Denethor icily stared at the Grey Fool. "Must you barge in whenever you please and order around_ my _servants!"

Gandalf guided the Steward out of ears' reach. "I feel that it is a beneficial thing that I arrived when I did. You were about to do something incredibly foolish."

"How do you know what I was to do?"

Gandalf eyed Denethor. "Do not insult me, milord; many men have been in your place before. I've seen an event that will change our fortunes in this ordeal."

"You always do," Denethor offhandedly commented, not at all pleased with anything.

Gandalf inhaled, humming as he lit his pipe. "Your eldest son was sneaking through the city wall, with Beregond at his side."

Denethor's face lit up. "Boromir! Then he is free?"

"Yes."

"I must go to him!"

"Not so fast, milord. Things hang by but a thread. If the thread snaps, all is lost."

"You will not take my son from me!"

"I have no intention of doing that. But if you charge into seeing your eldest, things may look bleak for the youngest."

"Faramir was not with Boromir?"

"Not that I could see."

Denethor was angry. He punched the wall with the side of his fist, releasing as much anger as he could, which wasn't very much. "Then Ceredon still has the upper hand."

"It would appear that way."


	15. Chapter 15

_Hi everyone! Here's the next chapter…bit more suspense I think. Just want to let you know that I won't be here to update as often. I'm very busy and things are coming on top of my end-of-school-year schedule, so I will update if I can, but it won't be very often. In the meantime, please read, enjoy, and review! _

* * *

Chapter 15

Boromir tiptoed across the streets, ducking whenever he felt eyes watching him. Beregond stealthily followed.

"Milord," Beregond cautiously petitioned, "are you sure it was a good idea to leave the horses and Paradon there, where we left them?"

"Some farmer will see them sooner or later. I wouldn't worry. There's the building. Let's go!"

They dashed to the front door and entered, not heeding any guards.

Boromir scanned the place. "I don't think anyone's here on the first floor. They must be torturing Faramir upstairs!" Without a moment's wait, Boromir raced up the stairs.

"Milord!" Beregond growled, warning.

"I'll be careful!" Boromir hissed back as he placed his ear against the door, though he didn't care for his patience at this moment..

Nothing. Quiet as death.

"Could be a trap," he murmured.

Beregond unsheathed his sword, ready. "At your command, Captain."

Boromir nodded. Beregond kicked the door down, and entered the room. Both couldn't believe their eyes.

"Where's Faramir!" Boromir demanded, speechless.

Beregond whirled his head around the room, keeping his eyes sharp. "They must've moved him. They moved you!"

"He can't be out of Osgiliath!" Boromir reasoned, heart racing, breathing fast. He rapidly said, "He still has to be here! Anywhere! The jail, the stocks, an attic, anywhere! We need to search!"

"Boromir!" Beregond snapped.

"What?"

"Hastiness won't save your brother. Breathe."

Boromir breathed deeply and refocused.

"Good. Now, we will search, but take it slowly."

Boromir shook his head. "While he sits in a room not knowing if I'm alive or coming for him? While he wonders if Father has counted one thousand coins? While Ceredon taunts him night and day? While he has a knife to his fingers? At his neck?"

Beregond grasped his shoulders. "Boromir! Devising the worst out of this situation won't keep you any saner or return Faramir to you. Faramir will be alright if we do this swiftly and quietly."

Boromir leaned back against the wall. "I'm sorry. I just...I need to know he's alright. I need to see him again!" He started to tear up, but he regained himself.

Beregond nodded. "I told you that I would be here to comfort you. Believe me, there hasn't been a moment when I haven't understood. I have a brother as well."

Boromir nodded. "Let's go find Faramir."

They sauntered down the stairs. Boromir listened for activity outside the door and when he heard none, he opened it. And he opened it to the face of Mithrandir, Denethor, Ceredon, and three other officers.

"Boromir!" Denethor cried joyously.

But Boromir could not focus on his father. His eye was on the man he hated the most.

Ceredon saw the danger. He unsheathed his dagger, swung around and soon held Boromir's neck in his elbow, the knife a finger width away from his face. "Don't move or you're dead," he ordered Boromir, who was shocked by the rapidness of the maneuver. He couldn't think. The one thing he thought was of Faramir…where was he?

Seeing his lord in danger, Beregond armed his sword, the five soldiers following him. Gandalf tiptoed quietly away from the scene, no one sensing his disappearance. Denethor's eyes fumed a death sentence at Ceredon.

"If you want both of your sons back, these are my demands," Ceredon coolly slithered, slowly backing up, dragging Boromir with him. "Ten gold bars in front of me. I take them and leave. As I leave on Shadowfax, the fastest horse, I'll tell you where Faramir is, and the pretty little heir here will be alright. Move now or both of them die."

"Orders, Lord Denethor?" Beregond asked, his sword aimed directly at his captain. He or any of the men couldn't attack with Boromir in the way. Beregond cursed that they were in an abandoned street.

Denethor was about to answer when he saw a strange pointy blue object make its way behind the hostage and captor. A staff was raised.

Boromir hissed, "No one's paying anything you stupid…" He lifted his foot and bucked Ceredon in the groin. He wrenched the dagger away from his face. Gandalf moved quickly. He belted the man on the head with his staff. Ceredon's hold on his feet loosened, and he fell to the ground, moaning in pain.

Boromir flew to the ground, grabbed Ceredon's neck, and held the dagger high. Denethor rushed past his men and stopped him just in time. "Boromir, please not now. You there, take the captain inside with Mithrandir, begin questioning."

Beregond, knowing that Denethor was addressing him, took his captain by the wrists and pushed him into the building. Mithrandir followed, humming thoughtfully in his usual way.

Once the door was closed, the three soldiers left. Denethor embraced Boromir. Boromir couldn't help but to hug him back.

"Are you hurt?" Denethor asked, worried.

Boromir pulled himself away. "No, but he still has Faramir! I-I don't know where, they tried to move me to Ithilien but Beregond helped me get away! We need to find Faramir!"

"I know that, son, but this is very important. Was Ceredon involved?"

"Involved?" Boromir nearly laughed. "He led the kidnapping! He tortured Faramir..."

"Tortured?" Denethor instantly paled.

Boromir's lip quivered. He tried to control it. "If you'd seen him...he was so scared...Father, we need to find him."

Denethor clutched his son again. "I know. We will."

* * *

Faramir jumped at the sound of the door opening. He tried to glimpse outside, to see where he was, but Garapen closed the door too early. Garapen held a torch bursting orange flocks of light, and a frying pan.

Faramir refused to look at him. Garapen had more than one bruise, deep purple bruises, on his face. Faramir didn't want to imagine what his back, the one Faramir whipped most, looked like. His leg was in a splint. Did he have broken bones? The sight was too guilt-giving to look at. He caused it. Faramir caused Garapen's pain. Why was he sorry?

He heard Garapen snicker. "Too ashamed to look at me? Or perhaps too frightened? I can never read the expression in your eyes."

Faramir resisted the urge to kill the man with his stare. More than shame and fright was in Faramir's feelings for this man. Hate reigned.

Faramir saw the lights of the torch come towards him. Garapen was coming. Still, Faramir kept his eyes on his tied legs.

"What's the matter, boy? Too scared to face your enemy? What a soldier you'd make!"

He kicked Faramir in the ribs. Faramir howled, but quickly silenced it, biting on the leather strap gag.

"Fight back, Faramir!" the soldier heartlessly mocked. "Come on, throw a fist!"

A fist hit Farmair's jaw. It stung.

Garapen set the torch in an unstable hold against the wall. "Come on! Fight back, you maggot!"

Garapen kept kicking, hitting, and taunting. Faramir closed his eyes. He felt the marks on his body appear; welts took shape, and his terror grew.

"Why do you think that it's nearly been three days since we took you? Your father hates you!" Garapen unleashed his knife. Faramir's eyes widened.

"Oh, would I kill you?" Garapen mocked. He inserted the tip slightly into Faramir's forehead. "Would I kill you? Let me think it over."

Faramir's breathing quickened. He hated the sound of his muffled whimpers as he tried to back away. He was afraid. Deathly afraid.

"Maybe I would," Garapen slithered. He placed the blade underneath Faramir's chin, pretending to slit the throat.

Sheathing his knife, Garapen then took the frying pan and held it above the torch. It heated. Faramir stared at it with wide, fearful eyes.

Garapen eyed Faramir with hate. "No one beats me and gets away with it." The hot pan moved slowly to Faramir.

Faramir wriggled in the binds, trying to get away. Garapen just laughed.

The pan hit Faramir's chest. It tore through his clothes.

Faramir screamed in agony. He tore away from it. But that only made the burn worse.

Garapen finally lifted it up. Faramir sweated like a pig. Then Garapen stuck the pan in his abdomen. Faramir screamed, cursing the gag and why no one noticed the boy suffering.

The torturing continued. Faramir pleaded for Garapen to stop. But the helpless, gagged cries of the teenager only encouraged Garapen. He threw the frying pan away and continued hitting Faramir.

Faramir's body ached.

Garapen grabbed Faramir's hair and lifted his head upward. "No one beats me."

Faramir could've cried. He whimpered. He wanted to be held. He wanted his big brother's arms.

"Garapen!" a voice called from outside. Faramir didn't recognize it.

"What is it?"

"The captain's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

Silence was all that was heard for a few moments.

Then the soldier admitted, "You better hurry before they kill him."

Garapen fled, closing the door behind him.

Faramir leaned back against the beam, his body aching. He breathed, calming himself. The wounds stung unceasingly. He let himself cry. The tears soaked his cheeks and rolled down to his legs. He longed to see his brother and feel the protective arms around him.

Faramir opened his eyes to an unusual noise. The torch that Garapen left was swaying. Its hold was unstable.

Faramir panicked.

He wriggled around in his binds, trying hopelessly to flee from the danger that was coming.

The torch fell. The fire spread.

And Faramir leaned back, hopeless and defeated.

* * *

Denethor marched into the house where they were questioning Ceredon. He had sent Boromir to search the city. It was the only way to keep his son calm while Faramir was still missing.

Mithrandir sat on a stool, smoking a pipe. Beregond stepped back when he saw his lord. Ceredon was the only one to look Denethor in the eye.

Denethor crossed his arms. "You will tell me where Faramir is and I will consider your punishment outside of execution."

Ceredon mirrored Denethor's posture. "I know where he is. He's safe. But I want my ten gold bars before I give you the location."

"That is not possible. You're caught. Now I want the names of all who were involved."

Beregond interrupted, "Beg your pardon, milord. We left Paradon in a field, tied up."

"Under whose order?"

"Lord Boromir's."

Denethor nearly smiled at his son's craftiness, but kept his stern face for Ceredon's sake. "Tell me."

Ceredon smiled. "Do you really think I'd do that while I still have the upper hand?"

"If you do not tell me where my son is, you will have no hands." Denethor drew his sword and held it in front of Ceredon's face. "Now, where's Faramir?"

* * *

Faramir wrestled in his binds. The fire was spreading. The flames were crawling closer to him. The walls were starting to become alight. Smoke filled the room.

Faramir coughed. He knew he had little time left. Hopefully, someone would see the fire. He didn't care it if it was Garapen, Ceredon, or any other criminal. He just wanted to live. He screamed, though he knew he wouldn't likely be heard.

Now, he wished for his father. He wished…

He wished he could see him. He wanted to hug his father.

But he also wanted his father to hug him.

* * *

Denethor just stopped himself from cutting Ceredon. He marched outside, Mithrandir following him.

"He will talk," Gandalf consoled. "I brought along the ransom if you desire to create a hoax for the men."

"That won't be necessary, wizard. Boromir will find him. And then my sons will give the names of the men they saw. This will all be over before noon."

"I do hope so, indeed." Gandalf lamented.

Denethor left the wizard there, in front of the building. He walked the streets, earning the respect of soldiers that he passed in the streets. These soldiers respected him, served him, and obeyed him. He knew that Ceredon was a minority in his service, but Denethor couldn't help but wonder what he could've done differently to avoid the whole ordeal that threatened his sons. Could he have given more pay? No. Many of the soldiers knew that their pay was the greatest in Minas Tirith and accepted the food that they had on the table. But Denethor couldn't help but wonder why Ceredon didn't just come after him. Did his sons have to suffer the anger that was against him? It wasn't right.

Suddenly, Denethor stopped. He had wandered to the very edge of the city. A small, well-built yet abandoned shack lay on the very edge of the gate. Smoke seethed out of the crack of the door.

_Fire. _Denethor thought. He shouted, "Fire!"


	16. Chapter 16

_Some of you may think that Denethor is slightly AU in this chapter, but I think it helps the story..._

_PLEASE REVIEW! _

* * *

Chapter 16

Faramir coughed and choked. He needed to breathe something other than the black plague that arose from the burning orange cascade. He was panicking. He brought his legs closer to his body. The fire was creeping closer to him. He tried to stand, but the ropes were too tight.

_I'm going to die! I'm going to die! The fire's going to kill me! I can't run away! _

He felt sweat pour down his face like a torrent. He needed water. He needed cold. He felt himself nearly blacking out. He was so hot.

He cried through the gag. He needed his brother. His father. What did his father matter? Hadn't the man always hated him? Hadn't Denethor ever given him a moment of his life? But…he still had the need. He needed his father. Perhaps more than anyone in the world.

The door opened. Faramir couldn't see anything. It was all so hazy.

"Faramir!" He heard someone call. He longed to place the voice but…

_Father! _

Faramir knew it. It had to be him. He screamed through the gag.

Through the distorted images he saw, he thought his father tried to put out the fire with his cloak.

"No, it's no good."

Faramir heard that mumble and gave up all hope.

Then, he heard and felt something slice the ropes off of him. The gag was torn from his mouth, untied, and thrown into the fire.

"Faramir, stand!"

Faramir tried. "I can't," he moaned. "I-I-Father…"

Faramir felt himself being lifted.

He was rushed out of the shack which was his confinement and prison.

Suddenly, a great light blinded him. Something like a freezing, rushing wind hit him. He was cold. Freezing. He felt his vision going black.

He didn't remember anything else.

* * *

Denethor saw Faramir's eyes roll back into his head. He was unconscious.

"Soldier!" he screamed, "Fetch my horse! Now!"

"Yes, milord!"

Denethor laid his son on the ground. His son was boiling hot by touch of the skin. His face was bleeding, dripping down his face. He was bruised; deep purple bruises were all around his body. The charred holes of his shirt revealed burned skin. Denethor nearly erupted as he thought, _What did these men do to him?_

Denethor called into the crowd, "Water, give me water!"

The order was followed instantly with water being spared to douse the fire's spread. The horse's clops of hooves pattering in the distance reached Denethor's ears. He ignored it.

"Faramir?" Denethor laid his head on Faramir's chest, listening. "You're heart's still beating. Good. Hold on, Faramir." Denethor felt his own heart race.

"Milord!" a hurried, deep voice called. It was Mithrandir.

"Milord, please allow me," Gandalf pleaded.

Denethor looked hard at the Grey Fool. "Will you put a spell on him?"

Gandalf looked at Faramir. "I am experienced in these matters, milord. If you would allow me, Faramir will become well."

Denethor saw his horse come into view. "I'd rather let our healers tend to him, Wizard. You are excused." He picked up Faramir and, with the help of a soldier, mounted his horse. Faramir was laid against his father, motionless and breathing. A blanket was wrapped around him.

Denethor glanced at his face. Faramir flinched, hissed through his teeth. Denethor thought he would awake, but instead, Faramir lolled his head backward.

"Where is Boromir?" Denethor asked anyone.

Gandalf answered, "He is still searching the city, milord. But I will tell him of Faramir's rescue if it is your desire."

"It is. Tell him to come immediately to the Houses of Healing." Denethor bolted off towards Minas Tirith.

Gandalf watched as they became smaller and smaller as father and son disappeared into the horizon. "Go with all speed," Gandalf blessed. Then he shouted to the crowd, "Find Captain Boromir and send him to me! I will be at the prison!"

Suddenly, Gandalf's eyes watched two men hurrying. One looked like he was limping badly. Another was aiding him. No one was of reported injury and there were no attacks. How…and then Gandalf saw their direction: away from both Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. "You two!"

The soldier surrounding them took that as an order to apprehend them, snatched the two, and brought them before Mithrandir.

"Who are you?" Gandalf demanded.

The one injured beyond repair, with a bushy, bulky beard answered, "Garapen. This is my comrade. Why are we being treated like criminals?"

"Do you know who was in that fiery building?'

"No," Garapen snapped, though his eyes were twitching, making their way to the ground.

"A wise, truthful man knows when another is lying," Gandalf reprimanded. "Take these men to the prison. They will see justice at the Steward's hand. The prisoners should plead for mercy if they are wise." He mumbled, "Let me see, there were five involved, information we received from Beregond. We have Ceredon, these two, one is tied in the fields. We need only one more."

Gandalf walked through the city and made his way to the prison, so that Boromir would find him when need be. He sat there, smoked a pipe, and guarded the four felons that sat captive inside. As usual, thoughts crossed his mind of The Shire.

Frodo was taking the mastery of Bag End well, or so Gandalf had heard. The lad missed his Uncle Bilbo greatly, he knew it. The old hobbit had reached Rivindell safely and was under the care of Elrond and Arwen. Yes, yes, everything was in order. Still, he knew something was very wrong with Frodo…somehow. Matters beyond the Shire had been growing ever since Bilbo's adventures with the Company of Dwarves under Thorin Oakenshield. How much longer would it be until he witnessed the effects?

"Mithrandir!" a distressed voice, drenched in agony, called. Men gasped and separated themselves to create a path for the bearer of the voice.

"My lord, Boromir," Gandalf greeted, seeing the worry in the brother's eyes.

"They said that Father rescued Faramir?" Boromir pleaded, praying that Gandalf would say it was true.

"Yes, Faramir is quite safe, though in need of your healer's care."

"Where is he? Where's Faramir! What's wrong with him?"

"Hush, hush, milord," Gandalf calmed, not caring if Boromir thought he was above the wizard. He looked intently into the teary eyes. "Your father took him to the Houses of Healing. Your father wishes to join him immediately."

Boromir nodded. Without another word, Boromir bolted to the stables, took a random horse, mounted, and rode.

Gandalf looked on towards Minas Tirith; the Great White City which all of the Steward's family held dear. "A family reunited," Gandalf commented, "and we shall hope for a pleasant meeting."

* * *

"In here, milord!" Ioreth, the lead wife of the Houses, summoned. "Hurry, milord!"

She opened doors as Denethor carried his unconscious son into the buildings. Her flowing, tearing skirt flew behind her as she led her Steward and his son to a room.

"Lay him on the bed, milord."

Denethor did so, ready to do anything to help Faramir get well. He rested Faramir's head on the pillow, staring at the unmoving face. Denethor was greatly comforted by the fact that Faramir's chest was moving. He was still very hot after being in that burning building for who knew how long, and his face hadn't moved since he hissed in a breath at Osgiliath.

"Will he be alright?" Denethor asked, a statement more than a question.

Ioreth was a woman of iron. She had authority in her voice."Lordship, he will be alright while I am the healer."

She sat on the bed, felt Faramir's head, and snapped orders to her assistants. "Bring kingsfoil! Prepare cool water, not lukewarm! Oh, he's too hot! Bring ice!"

Denethor saw Faramir twitch. "Ioreth!"

Ioreth turned and saw what her lord did.

Faramir flinched. His brow twitched. He moaned something not understandable. Then, in a small squeak of a murmur, Faramir called, "Father...Father..."

Denethor jumped toward his son. He grasped Faramir's hand. "Faramir! Son, I am here."

"Fa-Fa…" Faramir called in his sleep. He twitched his head, as if shaking it in protest. His face spoke terror, like he was witnessing something of dread, something which he could not bear.

Faramir stopped flinching. He moaned as if drifting into sleep. The hand Denethor was holding fell limp.

Denethor let the hand drop on the bed. "What's wrong with him?"

Ioreth flinched. "I know not, milord." She shouted into the storage room. "Bring that ice!" She leapt off the bed, a thought in her head to do it herself. "Bring it now! The lord's son must heal! Quickly! Do it now!"

Denethor searched Faramir's face for any sign of life. He remembered when his wife first presented him as a baby. So sickly, pale, almost unrecognizable. Boromir had immediately loved the baby, but Denethor had never cared for the child. Why?

"Faramir," he whispered. "Faramir, if you can hear me, please wake up; if not for me, then for your brother." Despite what the healer may have warned, Denethor scooped his son up in his arms, holding him close. "Faramir, please return to me. I don't want to have our last moment together be me shouting at you. I love you too much for that, son."

And so Denethor admitted in words what he could never say in front of others.


	17. Chapter 17

_A: ***Just to avoid confusion, I made up the song verse coming up***_

_B: Some of you loyal readers may think that Denethor is slightly (or majorly) AU in this chapter again, but I think it's good for the story and I have plans for the rest of the story…this is going to go on (opinions?)! _

* * *

Chapter 17

He was in trouble. That much he knew. He had a memory of a fire. A hot fire. His father was in it, burning, weeping, and screaming. His hands were white and burning. He called to him. He never answered.

He wept. Now, he had a sensation of being bound. Something was on top of him. All he saw was darkness. He forced his eyelids to open. Light. A bright light.

He tilted his head upward. There he was.

A familiar thing was reading a book. A man. A man he knew well. How dare he not see his torment!

"Father!" he screamed agonizingly, tears dripping down his cheeks. He thrashed around, panicking. He needed to escape…something. What bound him?

Denethor dropped his book and wrapped his arms around Faramir. "It's alright, Faramir. Faramir, you're safe. You're in the Houses of Healing. Son, you're safe."

Faramir gathered his surroundings. Yes, he was safe. A fire glowed in the hearth. The sky outside showed the twinkling of stars. He was in a bed. A white nightgown dressed him. He was covered in sheets. The sheets! That's why he felt trapped. But he noticed something else.

He was in his father's arms.

In a flash, Faramir remembered everything that had happened. He shook. He let out a sob and hugged his father.

"Shush, Faramir, shush," Denethor said. "I told you that you were safe. We rescued you from the fire."

"Are you alright?" Faramir couldn't help but ask that question.

"Yes. Why would you ask?"

Faramir didn't want the horrid images of the dream. It hurt him to see his father in so much torment.

"Faramir, lie down and rest," Denethor commanded, tilting Faramir back down to the bed. "Rest."

Faramir nodded, celebrating the luxurious feeling that the pillow he laid on gave him. The sheets warmed him and he just felt safe. Safe.

He felt his chest. Bandages wrapped around the wounds he received from Garapen. He rotated his sprained ankle. It hurt, but less than before. He felt his face. Scratches. Bandages were over the bloody punches.

"Good," said Denethor when Faramir lay down. He picked up the book. He soured, as if a thought crossed his face; a horrid thought that didn't seem to please him. "What did they do to you?"

Faramir hated his father then. How dare he bring back the torture he endured! Calmly, however, he answered rapidly, scanning the memories and then banishing them to places unknown.

"They tied me up, gagged me, blindfolded me. I think they hid me in the kitchen. Then they took me to Osgiliath. I was in this room, upstairs, I don't know where. They…they beat me and tortured me, tried to…drown me. Boromir…" Faramir held back tears, "…Boromir was brought in a little while after. Then they had us together for a while, and then they took him away. And…they burned me… and Boromir…" Faramir choked on sobs.

Denethor patted his son's shoulder. He had little emotion in his voice. "It's alright, Faramir. It's alright. Don't cry."

Faramir's lip quivered. He shouted, "But they killed him!"

"What?"

Faramir bit his lip in rage of Ceredon, who showed him the bloody dagger and said his brother had passed on with his fathers. "They killed him! They killed Boromir! How do you not know?"

Denethor looked at his son with great distress. He slowly said, "What do you mean, Faramir?"

Faramir didn't know what Denethor meant, but Faramir took the tone his father used as a mockery. It was as if he didn't know what he was talking about! As if he didn't know what blood was!

Faramir almost bellowed at his father, but the door opened.

Boromir, face looking at a tray of food, entered the room and began. "Father if you wish to leave…" Boromir looked up. He halted. He laughed.

"Faramir!" He placed the tray on top of the hearth and ran to his brother.

Faramir stared at the image running before him. "B-Boromir!"

Boromir was more than two steps away from the bed before Faramir leapt onto his brother.

Faramir was crying, clutching his brother's neck. Boromir laughed, happy to see his brother safe and sound. Finally safe and sound.

Faramir was speechless. Was this really his brother? Were these his brother's arms wrapped around him. Was his brother here? He hugged him all the tighter.

"Oh, you're alive!" Boromir put his brother back on the bed. "When you didn't wake up for the last few hours I was so worried!"

Faramir cried more, overwhelmed with so much emotion.

Boromir worried more, more than he had been previously. Faramir was so upset. He looked to his father, searching for answers.

Denethor kept the same monotone expression. "He thought that you were dead. He was quite convinced of it."

Boromir gaped. "Oh, Faramir. Faramir!" he hugged his brother again, trying to prove that it really was him. "I'm fine. You're alright. Everything is settled."

Faramir gently tore away from the hug, nodding. "I know."

Boromir sat on the bed next to his brother, arm draped around his shoulder. While Denethor went to retrieve the food, Boromir whispered, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"That's the last thing that I want to do!" Faramir cruelly said.

"Alright." Boromir let silence echo for a few moments, letting Faramir relinquish his anger. "Now, didn't I promise you that we'd spend an afternoon together in the archery range?"

Faramir's face suddenly lit up. "Can we still go?"

"Of course."

Denethor interrupted while sorting through the selection of food. "But the healer, Ioreth, has to permit your release. You are not leaving these Houses until you are safe to walk without collapsing."

Faramir reluctantly agreed to his father's wishes.

Denethor continued as he laid the tray in front of Faramir. "Eat. Faramir, Boromir, we have four of the captors. Were there any more other than the soldiers?"

Boromir answered, "No, I only saw four."

Faramir was pale. His hands started shaking. He tried to control it as he reached for some bread; bread that one captor had probably prepared.

"Cook helped me kidnap them. Ah! No! I mean they…Cook tied me up the first time!"

"Cook helped?" Boromir asked, growing hot with fury. Anyone that touched his little brother was worthy of a death sentence after long hours of torture.

"Guard!" Denethor boomed.

The guard answered hastily.

"Arrest Cook for helping to kidnap my sons!"

"As you wish, milord." The guard left, signaling for many guards to follow him.

Faramir bit his lip. He still had the image in his head. The tying up, blindfolding, being carried, being helpless… he hated it. He loathed not being able to move for hours on end. He hated seeing his brother suffer the same torture. He didn't want the memories to return, but he didn't have a choice.

They marched on.

Boromir hugged him.

* * *

The fire in the hearth had turned to embers. Denethor relit it, as Boromir had to leave to arrest the Cook and lay charges against the other kidnappers. Denethor had told Boromir that it would be good practice for later becoming Steward, but that wasn't the real reason.

Denethor held the candle close to Faramir's face. He was lying on his side, face towards his father. Denethor sat down and laid the candle on the bedside table.

"Faramir," Denethor breathed. "Do you remember what our moment together was like before you were kidnapped?"

Faramir nodded. It hurt to be reminded of it. He hated his father's stern eyes when he was angry.

"I want to deeply apologize, son." Denethor fingered the pages of the book he held, nervous. "You-you had information about a rebellion and because I didn't listen to you, you paid the price. If my reaction was different, then things would have transpired differently."

"It's alright, Father. You were busy."

"And you were taken from me because I wouldn't listen to you. That's inexcusable."

Faramir nearly gaped. Was this really happening? Did it just happen? Was his father…Faramir could've jumped for joy.

"And…" Denethor continued, "There is another matter I wish to discuss. The instructor that you have is not meeting my expectations, so you will receive a new instructor. And we will not educate you in a desk for much longer. If you wish it, you will be educated in the ways of the sword."

Faramir sat up, winced from the pain of the burned skin, and laid back down slowly. With hopeful eyes, he asked, "Really?"

"Do you wish it?"

"Yes!"

Denethor's face didn't move. But his eyes were full of something. Something that Faramir hadn't seen in his father's eyes before. A hint of pride.

Denethor stuttered, "And…and I wanted to…to…Faramir, open this book and read to me. I'll help you as you stumble."

Faramir nearly dropped the book when his father gave it to him. "What do you mean, Father?"

Denethor stared at Faramir. "I mean read! Read to me! How would you not understand? Now, begin!"

Faramir opened the book to page one. The book was of poetry; beautiful songs from the greatest scribes of Gondor. Faramir always loved music. His father knew it. He was going to read songs of Gondor to his father!

Faramir licked his lips and concentrated as best he could over the bubble of joy and pride he felt. "When all is lost…I can…cannot hide! The g…gree…great-est hope is at my side. The king shall come and win our wars. And he will o-open every…door?"

"Good, Faramir," Denethor said in a monotone. "You did that from memory, didn't you? Continue."

Faramir hid his smile.

Unbeknown to father and son, Boromir creaked the door open when he heard Faramir reading. He let a smile sneak onto his face. He peeked in at his father and little brother. His brother was reading songs to his father?! Denethor looked uncomfortable helping Faramir read, but he was trying. Faramir was smiling uncontrollably.

Boromir slowly closed the door and turned to bed.

He promised Faramir that this moment would come…and he wasn't going to spoil it.

* * *

That night, Faramir went to bed in the Houses of Healing. His father stayed by his side until he fell asleep.

Faramir fell asleep to the only memory of his mother that he had.

"_Mama!" Faramir ran to his weakening mother._

"_Hello, dearest!" she kissed him on the cheek. She was growing thinner, though her youngest didn't know why. She was growing tired. _

"_Mama sing?" the year old asked._

_His mother smiled. "I don't see why not. Boromir?"_

_The six year-old rushed in, smiling. "Mama, will you sing?"_

"_For my two beautiful boys? Of course I will!"_

_Boromir jumped up and down, excited. Faramir smiled and laughed._

_She sat down in the rocking chair, taking Faramir into her lap. Boromir climbed onto his mother's knees. Both boys lay across her chest, snuggling close to her. The kind woman cuddled her sons. _

_She started softly singing. The melody rang throughout the nursery. _

"_When all is lost, I cannot hide. The greatest hope is at my side. The king shall come and win our wars. And he shall open every door."_

Faramir closed his eyes, letting the song ring in his heart, his mother's voice singing. That moment caused him to love music, even now. And he remembered his mother as he fell asleep that night. And he could've sworn that she was in the room with him, singing, and being with him.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

**PLEASE READ **

**AN: I confess that I have hit a writer's block in this story…uh oh. I know how the story will end, but I need a sort of filler for the years between the kidnapping and Boromir's death/War of the Ring. Here's the good part: I need ideas/suggestions from my loyal readers! I'll mention the names of the people who gave me the ideas in the next chapter. For now, I give you two drabbles about Faramir's healing, these are in line with the story. Thanks for your patience! **

* * *

Two months dragged on by. Faramir had healed and was sleeping in his own room now. His father promised that he would be starting sword lessons within the next three days. But even two months after Ceredon and his men had been executed, Faramir still felt the fear.

As he lay in his own bed late at night, Faramir stared at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. He found himself staring at the door. He wanted to know if anyone was coming. The light of the candle still flickered in the night. He needed that light. He was frightened that if he were to fall asleep, he would wake up bound and Ceredon kneeling down beside him, threatening his life.

Finally, he couldn't stand it.

He pulled the tapestry aside. He pulled the door to the passageway open and crawled through. He had the oddest sensation of fear as he crawled through the tunnel, but then he realized that it reminded him of the crate he was kept in. His breathing grew rapid, and he wanted to escape this. He crawled faster, closing his eyes, fighting the fear.

He pushed the door to Boromir's room open, ignoring the giant tapestry that hid it. He crawled out, ducked under the tapestry, and rushed to his brother. He was sleeping. He barely moved when he slept.

Faramir shook him awake. "Boromir?"

Boromir looked up at his brother with half-open eyes and half-heartedly moaned. "Go back to sleep."

"I haven't slept."

Boromir fully opened his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Faramir breathed heavily, rubbing his shoulders. "I…I…I…don't…"

Boromir saw the horrified look on his brother's face. At the slightest sound, he jumped. His eyes were huge with fear. His body shook. He was whimpering slightly.

"Come on," Boromir invited. He scooted over in the bed, sitting against the backboard. Faramir crawled in and rested on his brother's pillow. He looked up at his big brother and started crying. Tears drenched the pillow within minutes.

"Hush, Faramir. It's alright." Boromir stroked his little brother's hair, moving it away from his face.

"I can't walk without realizing that my legs can move," Faramir cried. "I'm so scared sometimes! I just…" He sat up and grasped his brother's torso tightly. "Please, just…keep me safe!"

"I always will," Boromir whispered lovingly, hugging him tight. Faramir laid against Boromir, crying his eyes out.

"Why aren't you frightened?" Faramir asked Boromir. "Why aren't you worried if someone will take you?"

"I am. That was frightening, Faramir."

It was silent for a few moments, but then Faramir lamented, "You're stronger than me, that's why!"

"What?"

Faramir cried more. "You can lift a sword. I can't. You could get away from the kidnappers and I just sat there like a pathetic animal not doing anything!"

Boromir clutched Faramir's face with the love of a big brother. He forced his little brother to stare at him. "Faramir, you listen to me! You were so brave! You didn't tell them where the treasury was under penalty of death! You got away! You told me that! You saw the bolt was loose when I didn't and you got away! You had the bravery to not hurt Garapen after all that he did to us! Faramir, you are strong! You're so strong! Don't you ever let anyone tell you that you're weak! Because you are worth more than you realize! And I love you too much to see you suffer!"

Faramir laid there, soaking in his big brother's words. It felt so good to hear them. He needed that type of encouragement. He was strong. He knew it. But, there were times when living in his big brother's shadow made him doubt. But the owner of the shadow telling him that he was worth something was all worthwhile.

* * *

Gandalf announced that he would be leaving. Faramir was in the archery range when he heard, and he rushed to say his good-bye.

"Mithrandir! Mithrandir!" Faramir ran to the grey-cloaked man as he mounted a horse.

"Why, Faramir! Hello!" Gandalf got off of his horse and greeted the boy with a tight embrace. "How are you fairing?"

"Well, thank you. Is it true that you are leaving?"

"Yes. Other friends of mine are in need. I must go to them."

"Will I see you again, Mithrandir?"

"We shall see." Gandalf saw the boy's sad eyes. There was sadness in saying goodbye to his friend, but there was something else. Something that would take years to heal.

Gandalf put his gruff, smoke smelling hand on Faramir's shoulder. "Know this, Faramir: you do have strength. Sometimes strength is not in your muscles or your accomplishments. Sometimes strength is in your willingness to do the unexpected and to do what some people may think weak. Why, you may have enough strength to save this country. For all we know, you may save the world!"

"That's my brother, Mithrandir."

The wizard only smiled and said, "I wouldn't be so sure."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

When the Wizard said Faramir would save the world, Faramir hoped he meant that he would become a Captain of Gondor when he was twenty-six. That happened. But he still hadn't made his father proud. Faramir supposed he never would.

His brother had become a renowned captain of Gondor, joyously winning battles against the Orcs of Mordor. Boromir, in Faramir's eyes, was now the greatest Captain that had ever served in Gondor's military. Boromir made everyone proud, and his younger brother was no exception.

Faramir, now twenty-six, was relieved and thankful when he found time alone in the archery range. He didn't know where his brother and father were, but he was happy that he had this time alone.

He knocked an arrow and shot the target. _Perfect ._ His archery skills had improved beyond belief, even to himself. Denethor showed some interest in his younger son's improvements, but Boromir's shine distracted Denethor from Faramir's glow. Faramir knew it wasn't his brother's fault.

He found it odd. He was an adult! Children were the ones who sought their father's guidance and pride. But…why was he searching? He still wanted his father to notice him, to love him, to say, "I'm proud of you." Boromir had heard it often enough.

Was Faramir jealous? He supposed not. It was just the way things were. But still..his father…

Denethor had changed. He seemed older than he should've aged. He had sometimes retreated to his Palantir. He would disappear for what seemed to be hours. He would return grayer, darker, farther away from the world. He was more distant, even from Boromir.

Faramir tossed these thoughts aside, realizing that he was wasting his precious time alone in the range.

He knocked yet another arrow, and shot. "Perfect again." Faramir smirked.

"Little brother?" A familiar thirty-one year old called into the range.

"I'm in here Boromir!" Faramir shot again.

"Here you are! I've been looking for you. I wanted to speak with you about the dream."

"Do you mean the dream about Imladris?"

"Yes."

"I've had it twice. I still don't know." He shot again.

"I've talked to Father," Boromir began. "He says that Imladris is the Elvish name for Rivindell, a city of Elves."

Faramir shot one final arrow, again a direct hit. "And the dream told us to go there."

"There's one other thing." Boromir put his hand on the bow to discontinue his brother's streak. "Lord Elrond of Rivindell has summoned a council, Gondor is invited to attend. The council feels you to be qualified to go to Rivindell."

Faramir hid his shock. "Really?"

Boromir could see right through his brother, see the shock and energy, and he smiled. "I believe that the meeting is about a weapon of the Enemy, though these are just rumors."

Faramir was speechless. Doubt hung from his heart and he felt only these words come to his mouth. Isildur's Bane! The council thought that _he _was qualified! Did they have any idea how much of a responsibility this was!

"Is the council not certain that you're not more qualified to go to Rivindell?" Faramir cursed the worry in his voice.

Boromir looked as shocked as Faramir had previously. "Faramir! You've been waiting for this! You're old enough! You will have the representation of Gondor…the race of Men! At least look excited! I know that it's a big jump but you're going to be great!"

The extra vote of confidence in his ability made Faramir slightly calmer. Did his father approve? Did he? Yes! He must have! Denethor wouldn't allow Faramir out of the city unless he approved.

"When do we prepare to leave?"

"Soon. But we still have a few minutes." Boromir smiled and grabbed a bow and a few arrows from the arsenal.

"Are you sure?" Faramir stammered. "D-Did he say when?"

"Who?"

"Father."

Boromir looked calm, peaceful, and if anything…assured. "We still have a few minutes. Trust me."

"Maybe we should leave now."

Boromir chuckled as he knocked his arrow. "You're till the timid one." He aimed at the target, his clumsiness clear to even an amateur. He hissed in a breath, aimed once more, and shot. It landed five inches below the target.

Boromir cursed, not knowing why he hoped his brother didn't hear it.

Faramir smirked teasingly. "I may be the timid one, but I can hit the target."

Boromir sneered. "Don't make fun of me just because I miss the target."

Faramir feigned shock. "Why my lord Boromir! You don't just miss the target! You miss the range!" He knocked another bow, chuckling to himself.

Boromir casually looked towards the window, waiting until his brother pulled the string back. When he knew it was time, he used his bow to bump his brother's. Faramir jumped, startled, let the string go. The arrow pierced six inches below the target.

Boromir gaped. "Faramir, you're now at my level!"

Faramir wagged his bow in Faramir's face. "That's not fair your lordship!"

"Fair enough!" Both brothers laughed hysterically.

"Um-hmph-milords?" a timid voice squeaked.

Boromir turned his head to the page. "Yes? Speak quickly!"

"Your father would like you to see him in the throne room."

"Thank you."

Faramir frowned. Had Boromir forgotten this child so quickly? "Bergil, how are you?"

Bergil's eyes widened. "I am fine, Lord Faramir. Thank you." He stammered, unsure, "How are you?"

Faramir nearly laughed, but didn't. "I am fine as well. Are you practicing for your sword training? Your father tells me that you want to be a soldier of Gondor."

"Yes sir. I am practicing."

"That's good."

Bergil nodded, comfortable yet nervous.

Boromir spoke before Faramir could. "You are dismissed."

Bergil ran off.

Boromir stared at Faramir, wide-eyed, yet smiling. They began walking to the throne room. "Aside from being timid, you were also the more social one of us."

"I doubt it."

"I don't talk to the pages. You have a gift brother. It's a gift that I don't think that I could have. I think that I'm too much like Father and you're like Mother."

Faramir had to take long strides to keep up with his brother. "What do you mean?"

Boromir shook his head. "It's not wrong to be more like Mother."

Faramir rolled his eyes. "Father doesn't seem to think so."

Boromir snapped, "It doesn't matter what Father thinks, it never has! You're qualified for this meeting. Don't forget that. I'm proud of you."

Faramir learned to hide his large smile as a child. He practiced it now. "Thank you."

"What do you mean?!" Boromir almost shouted.

"Are you against going to Rivindell in Faramir's stead?"

"Faramir was supposed to attend!" Boromir protested, nearly forgetting that Faramir was next to him, in disappointed grief and shock.

Denethor kept calm. His voice was low, hiding from any eavesdroppers. Faramir had to strain his ears to listen. "If the rumors are true and the weapon of the Enemy is there, then I need you to go and claim it. This must be _our _responsibility! Our people are dying by the hand of Sauron, not the Elves, Wizards, Dwarves…us! We must have control of this weapon!"

Boromir shook his head. "No. My place is here, among my people."

Faramir spoke up. "I shall go to Rivindell. I will go in Boromir's stead."

"You?" Denethor mocked. "You feel qualified to travel all the way to Rivindell?" Denethor's smile was unforgiving.

"The council feels that I am qualified to go to Rivindell and represent Gondor." Faramir tried to copy Boromir's voice. He found it uncanny and childish to still be copying his brother, but how else would his father notice him? "I am of age and a captain of Gondor. If I may say, I am the one to take this assignment."

"I know my two sons better than the Council," Denethor reprimanded, his voice soft and devilish. "Boromir will go to Rivindell and retrieve the weapon of the Enemy. He won't fail me."

For the rest of the day, those words stung Faramir. He supposed it was true…no, he knew it was true. While he was Captain, he had lost many battles, including losing Osgiliath to the Orcs of Mordor. Boromir had to, so to speak, come in and rescue him. After the battle, Denethor specifically came to Osgiliath to congratulate Boromir…and to trash Faramir…in his face. Boromir took Denethor aside and tried to convince Denethor that Faramir helped as much as Boromir, but his father, once he formed an opinion, kept it.

Boromir was more qualified to go to Rivindell. It was almost unthinkable that Faramir would go…wasn't it?

He tried to hide that he wanted to go, because he knew that his brother wanted to as well. Boromir was just hiding it because his brother finally getting a chance was more important than improving his glory.

He was strolling through the gardens, sorting through his thoughts. He didn't know why he was so upset.

He saw a female gardener. She was weeding. Quickly, he puffed out his chest and strappingly walked to her. "Hello." _Better than not saying anything, _he thought.

The woman, hair falling from her pins, sweat making her face shine, started, and bean to straighten herself out. She stood and bowed to the steward's son.

"Please, no need to be formal. What's your name?"

She still hesitated. "Jayda, milord."

"Jayda," Faramir repeated. "Pretty name. How old are you?"

"Twenty-five, milord."

Faramir hesitated. He couldn't be the one talking. It was too…uncomfortable. "You-you…"

Jayda smiled a bit. "I have heard from gossip that either you or your brother is to travel to Rivindell."

"Yes." Faramir hoped that his relief that she was now talking wasn't evident. "He is going instead of me, however."

Jayda smiled. "I guessed as much."

Faramir bit his lip. "He is more qualified."

"Yes, with his battle experience, valor, and handsomeness," she cooed, looking at the garden, blushing.

Faramir nodded. "Yes, but those aren't the qualities that I see in him, since I am not a woman." _Oh, I am so stupid! So stupid! So very stupid!_

Jayda nodded, giggling, still staring at the garden. "Your brother is leaving?"

"Yes. Uh, I have to go. I'll see you around." _I am so very, very, very stupid!_

"Goodbye milord."

Faramir smiled politely. When she disappeared from sight, he hissed in a breath and kicked the wall. "I am so stupid!"

It was in the stables where Faramir saw Boromir next. "Are you scared to go?" he asked teasingly.

Boromir shoved his brother on the head playfully. "No. I suppose you're not jealous?"

"No. I'll have the women around me. You'll be lonely."

"Are you sure you'll be happy with that. They can get pretty…dangerous. We aren't getting our golden haired, blue eyed angels." He laughed.

Faramir laughed with him. "I'd rather stay here and help Bergil learn to use the sword, though I may be better at teaching him with the bow and arrow."

Boromir continued to pack for the long trip. After a while, he said, "I'm sorry that I couldn't convince Father that you were the one to go."

"Just forget it," Faramir ordered. The sharpness of his voice surprised even him. "I'm not a child anymore. You don't have to watch over my every fall."

Boromir nodded. "I'm sorry. Father's just…"

"He's been changing," Faramir finished. "He seems to separate himself from everyone, haven't you noticed?"

Boromir nodded, grieved. "Don't listen to Father. You haven't failed him or your country, not once. Remember that, little brother."

Faramir nodded. The two brothers hugged. An unexpected wave of grief washed over them, and they hugged tighter, not knowing why. Faramir felt as if…as if this was the last time…no. Nothing was the last time.

Faramir still hugged his brother. "I love you, brother."

Boromir shoved him away. "Love you too." He was scared of any surrounding soldiers.

Boromir mounted his horse. "I will be back in a few months at best."

Faramir smirked. "Remember to flirt with the Elven ladies, or better yet the Rohan maidens. I want a nephew."

Boromir glared at his little brother. "Don't get on my back about that. Father is already torturing me."

Faramir whispered, "Get me a nephew, future Steward!"

Boromir shook his head. "Shut up."

He left.

Faramir shouted across the way, "Don't lose your horse! Keep it in your sight!"

"Why would I lose it?" Boromir shouted back.

Faramir laughed, sorry that his brother was leaving. He didn't know why he had these feelings of regret, sadness, and…a feeling that said he didn't spend a good goodbye with his brother. He felt like he would never see him again.

"Just stop it," Faramir told himself. "You'll see him again."


	20. Chapter 20

_***Some scenes of this are AU. We're getting to the part where I follow both book and movie, so I'll try and throw my own spice in there and not copy anyone's work. Thanks for staying with me this long! __ Please review!***_

* * *

Chapter 20

Faramir shook. He wanted to run to it. Why didn't he? He felt as if the world had ended. He wanted tears to stream down his face. Why didn't they? Why wasn't he grieving?

Why did he let the boat drift by?

Why did the still body in the boat haunt him? It was his brother.

His brother's face was still. Deathly still. Three wounds punctured his chest. His sword lay in his clasped hands which peacefully lay on his chest. He was pale.

_Brother, open your eyes! _He shouted in his mind, his heart, his soul. _Open your eyes! Please! Just show me that you're alive!_

The boat slowly slid past him along the skim of the water. Faramir reached for it, but it was out of his reach. He couldn't move his legs.

He sweated. _No. No! NO! NOOO! _Why weren't tears coming? _Brother! Boromir, my brother! Brother! Boromir! Boromir! Come back!_

Fire caught on the boat. It scorched his brother's clothes. His brother's eyes opened, an icy blue color shining.

Faramir shook his head. _What's happening?_

In a voice not his, Boromir slithered, "Take the weapon. It must be yours."

Faramir shook.

"Do not fail…" Boromir hissed, "Do not fail…" Then a shout, "Do not fail!"

* * *

Faramir shot up. He was breathing hard, his heart raced, and sweat lightly coated his skin. He slammed his eyes shut and sucked in his lips, not wanting to wake the men who were sleeping around him. Two days since the horrid events and he still hadn't shaken the image from his head. Nightmares haunted them.

He buried his head into his knees. His lips quivered. No. He wouldn't cry in front of the men. He stood up and silently meandered through the sleeping bodies, praying that they wouldn't wake up. Dressed in his day clothes, he had no problem escaping to the deserted streets of Osgiliath. He needed the night air. He needed space to think.

_Boromir…why are you dead? What happened? What happened to you! _Faramir couldn't control his tears anymore. The brother that loved him, protected him, cherished him, stood up for him, and taught him everything he knew…was gone. He was more than just a big brother. They were closer than brothers. What would you call someone who was closer than a brother?

"Boromir, remember the time we snuck the pepper onto Father's pillow? He was angrier than any of us could predict, and you took the blame…no supper. When I was kidnapped, oh! brother you were the source of hope. Boromir, I was tricked into thinking that you were dead. I was heartbroken, torn." He whimpered, thinking over his feelings, shaking. "I'm feeling exactly that now! Brother…I loved you! I loved you so much!" He cried more. "Please let this be another trick. Please!"

He continued crying. He felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"Lord Faramir. Your brother would not want you to weep."

Beregond. Faramir wiped away his tears as Beregond squatted beside him.

Faramir gathered himself. "I just…I can't believe that he's gone. He's gone!"

"I am deeply sorry, Lord Faramir. I am so sorry."

Faramir wiped away tears escaping from his eyes. "He died a soldier. It's the death he would want to have. I'm sure he died honorably. He wouldn't have it any other way."

Beregond rubbed Faramir's shoulder. "I will not be here milord. I am scheduled to return to the White Tower and be a guard, but if you happen to return to Minas Tirith, I will be there."

Faramir kept his face straight. "I am a Ranger of Ithilien, I'll be heading there immediately at dawn. We have reports of Southrons moving towards our capital. I won't be returning to Minas Tirith any time soon."

Beregond patted Faramir's shoulder. Would it be wise to remind the inherited position Faramir had just received; Captain of the White Tower? "Your brother is with us in spirit, milord. He always will be."

Faramir nodded. "Thank you. Thank you for your support."

"I will always be there when you need me, Lord Faramir."

Faramir remembered how their friendship had grown ever since the kidnapping. Faramir had almost adopted Bergil as his own little brother. Now, Faramir knew that Beregond would be there; yes, he would.

Even if it meant his death.

* * *

Faramir ordered his men to attack. Southrons riding _oliphaunts_ were marching to war. War against Minas Tirith and all of Gondor. They were being driven by the Enemy. Faramir knew this. It was the only tactical thing that his father would tell him.

"Wait for my signal," he hissed, trying to act like his brother, who he saw boat six days ago.

"Now!"

The battle began. In a matter of moments, the Southrons were defeated. Faramir had expertly shot fifteen of the brutes. The cowards retreated to the horrid place from where they came. They were near celebrating until they found two strange things.

They ran into him, tripping over their small legs. Faramir grabbed the dark-haired one by the wrist. The straw-haired one leapt at Faramir, but not before two men thrashed him to the ground, holding swords close to his neck.

It was now that the fair-haired one panicked. "Don't hurt us! We're travelers!"

"In this land?" Faramir scoffed as he handed the dark-haired one to a soldier. "Travelers seldom set foot in this land."

"We're on a secret quest!" The dark-haired Halfling announced. "Those who are against the Enemy would be wise not to hinder us!"

_The Enemy! _Faramir immediately doubted him, but the icy-blue seriousness of the Halfling's gaze spoke of a horrible terror.

Faramir grinded his teeth together, glanced at both of them. They were scared, yet brave; confident, yet unwary.

Faramir knew only one thing. If they truly were on a quest against the Enemy, a _secret_ quest, then they should not have told him.

"Bind their hands."

* * *

The road back to the base of Ithilien was long. But at least the Halflings didn't make any noise. Faramir couldn't help but feel sorry for them. Experience told him that having hands tied behind your back for over an hour made them feel they were unattached. Their binding was not helped by a cloth blindfolding them. At least they weren't gagged. Had they been gagged, Faramir would've untied them both out of extreme self-pity. But he couldn't.

_I have to explain to them after we arrive at the base that the location of our palace is top secret. They should understand. I don't want them to think that I don't mistrust them…completely. Still, no one should be tied up…not for ransom or any purpose._

He clenched his fist in anger.

When they arrived at the base, he ordered the Halflings to be kept where everyone could keep an eye on them. He needed a briefing from the second in command.

Faramir unfolded the map, staring the countries down as if they were real, and he could drive the Orcs of Mordor away with a single stare. "What do the scouts report?"

"Isengard is now under the control of Saruman. Uruk-hai attack Rohan. They are severely outnumbered."

Faramir shook his head. "Why don't we send reinforcements to them?"

His aid stared at him like he had grown a horn out of his nose. "We barely have enough reinforcements for our own troops in Osgiliath. We escaped just in time to avoid an attack, milord. Orcs unceasingly send troops to our secondary capital. The men are weary and almost overrun."

Faramir breathed heavily. "Enemies from our every direction threaten us." He didn't know why he let that sentence hang there.

"Your father sees no way out," the aide lamented.

Faramir punched the table. "There is always a way out. We just need to find it."

* * *

Faramir marched up to the Halflings, and immediately their faces were downcast. The fair-haired one stared Faramir down, like he was protecting the other one.

Faramir demanded, "Are you Orc spies?"

"Spies?" the protector half-gasped, half-shouted. "Now you see here, Big Person! Have you ever seen…"

Faramir was _very _annoyed now. "Well, if you're not Orc Spies, then tell me what you are!"

They kept their mouths shut.

"Speak now!" he ordered. He waited a few moments. "Now!"

The dark-haired one relented, like he had given up on almost every aspect of life. "We're Hobbits of the Shire. My name is Frodo Baggins, this is Samwise Gamgee."

"He is your bodyguard?"

"His gardener!" Samwise snapped.

Faramir didn't know whether to look this Hobbit down…or to laugh out loud. A gardener?!

"What of your third companion?"

"Third?" Frodo spoke before Sam could; Sam tried to open his mouth.

"A gangly creature that looked as if he had crawled out of grave after decomposing."

"There was no other."

Faramir caught the gardener's stare at Frodo. Frodo was lying.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, then warned, "It would be best to tell the truth." He prayed he sounded threatening enough.

Frodo spoke. Apparently, he wasn't too keen on keeping secrets. "We set out from Rivindell with seven companions."

_Rivindell! _Faramir snapped in his head. Hoping for some news of Boromir, he let Frodo continue.

"Two were my cousins, anther one…we lost him in Moria." His eyes were clouded with a dark shroud when admitting the friend's death. "We also travelled with an Elf, a Dwarf, and two Men."

"Who were they?"

Frodo immediately moaned, "Aragorn son of Arathorn, a Ranger from the North. The other was Boromir of Gondor."

_I knew it! _Faramir knelt to look Frodo in the eye. "You knew Boromir?" he gasped.

"Yes, we were friends…on my part." Frodo looked sad, hurt, wounded, and confused all at once.

_He knows of Boromir's death. _Faramir grasped Frodo's shoulders, staring, daring him to lie. "How did he pass?"

"What?"

Faramir was now impatient. "He's dead!"

"Dead?! How? When?"

"You were with him the last few months, you tell me!" Faramir yelled.

"The last I saw him, he was alive. I do not know how he died!"

"Tell me!" the brother shouted.

Sam stepped in between them both. He tore Frodo away, and Faramir realized just how hard he was gripping the Halfling's shoulders.

Sam nearly shouted, "How do you know he's dead anyway?"

"His horn washed up on the side of the riverbank. I also know it…because…he was my brother."

Frodo gasped. Sam's angry expression withered away. Frodo moaned, "I'm sorry."

Faramir left them there.

* * *

Faramir sat on the space outside of the fort, close to where they held Frodo and Samwise. He had ordered the Halflings to be fed, but he didn't concern himself with that right now. He cradled the broken horn of Gondor; the horn that his brother loved from the country he cherished.

He couldn't stop thinking about how many times Boromir had stood up for him.

_Denethor shouted at Faramir, "You are supposed to hold the sword like this!"_

"_Father, he's just learning!" Boromir shouted. _

_Denethor seemed to remember that it had been three months since the kidnapping right there, and went easy on him. _

Faramir was again reminded at the heroism of his brother all those years ago. During the kidnapping, Boromir had endlessly shielded Faramir by taking him into his arms. He defended him and even helped him with his reading. He had finally learned how to spell "extraordinary" that night, and many other words. He probably read better to his father that one night because Boromir had helped him.

He clutched the horn tightly. He would be certain that the memory of his brother was never forgotten. His children to the fifth generation would know Boromir as if he were there. He would make sure of it. Faramir would write songs, stories…he would keep Boromir's legacy alive.

He started whimpering. "Boromir…I'll miss you." He told himself that he wouldn't cry; he convinced that Boromir wouldn't want him to mourn. He bit his lip. He squeezed the horn until he couldn't feel his knuckles. He couldn't help it. His brother's death deserved tears.

He hoped none of the men saw him crying.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder. He didn't need to look to know who it was. Why did he feel comfortable crying in front of him?

He buried his head in his hands. He listened to Frodo comfort him as he shed his own silent tears.


	21. Chapter 21

_AN: If you're confused, the italicized words are Smeagol talking and the normal font is Gollum. Just avoiding confusion. PLEASE REVIEW! IT MAKES ME HAPPY!_

Chapter 21

He sent Frodo back to the room. He looked as if he needed rest. Faramir just sat there, wanting his brother back with him but knowing that it wasn't possible.

He'd imagined Denethor's reaction to his brother's death. He strangely wanted to be there with him, but he knew that his father wouldn't accept him. He'd march into his room, retreat to the Palantir, and come back even more distant. What was happening to his father?

He wanted his father back. He wanted the Denethor that rescued him from the fire and the kidnapping. He wanted the Denethor who hugged him once he was safe in the Houses of Healing. He wanted the father who finally admitted that he could start sword training. He wanted his father.

"Milord Faramir?" a voice called.

Faramir listened to the report. He wasn't surprised that Frodo was lying about the wrinkly friend. Faramir was, however, surprised that the creature had entered the Forbidden Pool.

* * *

"Sméagol, don't struggle!" Frodo shouted. Sam was silent, his face broadcasting emotions no one could read. Faramir saw his men drag away the wriggling worm, a bag over his head.

Faramir snapped, "Get them back to their cell. Take the thing to the torture room."

Frodo let the men drag him away, but he continued looking at Faramir, his eyes speaking in agony. _I trusted you,_ they said. _I told you to let me retrieve him and it would be alright! You didn't listen to me!_

Faramir noticed Sam's dislike towards the gangly thing. Sam was silent and almost agreed when Faramir threatened to shoot him. The gardener was now worried about his master that he didn't seem to care about the new prisoner.

He left the Halflings to be returned to their cell and oversaw the beating of the gangly monster. They kicked him, punched him, and tore him. Faramir saw it with a stern face. Whatever this thing was, he didn't see the humanity… or any type of species… in him.

"That's enough."

The creature ran into a corner of the room and huddled into the darkness. He was crying.

In a raspy voice that Faramir could not duplicate, the demon muttered, "Why? Why do you cry Sméagol? _Master betrayed us! _Of course he did! He did! _He didn't mean it! _Of course he did! I told you he was tricksey! _Master wouldn't hurt us!_ _Master's my friend! He's my best friend! Only friend! _He stole it! He stole it! He stole it from us!"

Faramir kicked him in the back. "Get out of there. Now."

This creature was not so easily intimidated. "_Go away! Mean men hurts us! _Master stole the Precious. He stole it! But the Eye will catch him!"

_Eye! _Faramir snapped. The Eye was Sauron…Sauron was looking for…

The dream repeated in his mind, but this time, Boromir's orders to take the weapon shouted at him all the more.

"What did they steal?"

The devil slowly turned around, his eyes nearly shut and his few teeth barred. He shouted, "My Precious!"

Then a scream echoed in the palace, more deathly than Faramir had ever heard anything before.

But at least he knew why the Halfling's mission was a secret.

* * *

Faramir walked in. Sam started and backed up. Frodo stood to greet him.

Frodo looked more dazed than ever. "What have you done to Sméagol? Is he alright?"

"He's not important now," Faramir slithered. "What is it that you carry?"

Frodo's eyes widened with fear. "Please, do not ask me that."

"What do you carry?"

Sam was slowly moving towards Frodo, his eyes piercing Faramir like a sword. "It is none of your business."

"I believe it is the business of all Free People of this earth." He drew his sword, ignoring the stare of Sam. "At last…a chance for me to prove…Faramir, son of Gondor…is worth his value."

The sword pricked at the chain around Frodo's neck. He drew it out, taking the Ring with it. Oh, how beautiful it was! Golden, unstained, perfect! It would look beautiful on his finger. It would be a true chance to show his power. He was as valuable as Boromir…no! more than Boromir! His father would surely have to recognize him now. Now, he would be the true heir-

"NO!" Frodo shrieked. Faramir backpedalled. He hadn't noticed Frodo's paling. His eyes widened and, if possible, grew more icy blue. He trembled violently. He retreated into a dark corner…just like the Gollum creature.

Sam, with his own hidden dagger, slammed Faramir's sword to the ground.

"Can't you see that you're hurting him?" Sam pleaded. "Please! He's tied to it! Alright! You know about it! Can't you see that we're trying to be rid of it? That's where we're going! We're going to Mordor!"

"Why?" Faramir demanded.

Sam bit his lip. "We're going to destroy it!"

"You can't do that!"

"You won't stop us!"

Faramir stepped forward, but Sam held his ground. Faramir ordered, "Get out of the way."

"I promised that I wouldn't lose him."

"What?"

Sam stared up at Faramir. "I promised a wise man that I wouldn't lose him. I now consider that vow to include losing him to the Ring. I will never let him fall to It. We are going to destroy It, with or without help."

Faramir couldn't believe how valiant this Halfling was for his size.

Faramir heard the scout come out from behind him. The scout whispered, "Osgiliath is overrun. They call for reinforcements."

Faramir shooed the scout away.

Sam knew what that report meant. "We can't delay any longer. Please. Let us go!"

Faramir looked past Sam to Frodo. He had calmed, was breathing normally, and started inching out of the slit in the wall. The Ring still hung from the chain around his neck. It glistened in the moonlight, shining gloriously to Faramir's eyes.

It was almost that with the Ring, came images. Faramir was giving the Ring to his father. The next part, he didn't see, he felt. The only time he ever felt it was when his father finally helped him read. Those feelings were now stretched into eternity. It was what he had longed for. It was what he had always prayed for, since he was a boy.

And now, he wasn't going to let it slip away when it was just mere feet away from him.

"The Ring will go to Gondor."

* * *

A mysterious air had surrounded the men. Frodo knew that they didn't know exactly what was around his neck, only Faramir knew that; but somehow, they sensed the Ring's presence.

Faramir wouldn't let anyone near Sam and him except Faramir himself. His hands clutching their cloaks, he dragged them across the wilderness. Poor Smeagol was prodded with a spear to move forward. They all had their hands tied behind their backs.

Frodo's arms started aching. He felt like a hunchback. His arms were forcing him to have a straight back, but the weight of the Ring was overwhelming.

He couldn't continue. Not anymore. He had done enough, it seemed. Still, Galadriel had told him that the Ring was his burden. His. Why his? He had asked Gandalf that same question, and the answer of making the most of the time given wasn't much help now.

He had a feeling it would never be.

* * *

Faramir let the image of his father's pride and love surrounding him stay throughout the journey to Osgiliath. He hated that city. Ever since he was kidnapped…he hated it. It seemed appropriate that it was being attacked.

"Into this clearing," he ordered the Halflings. "We await another attack. Bring the creature in here."

The thing cried as it was thrown to the ground.

Like lightning, an image flashed in front of him. Gollum had morphed into him, tied, helpless, and scared…all those years ago.

He shoved it aside.

Faramir looked to the guards. "Leave us and watch the perimeter of the city. I will guard the prisoners."

They promptly obeyed, leaving Faramir with the Halflings and…thing.

Faramir stared at Frodo. He was his ticket to success. If he were to deliver him to his father, his father…or he…could wield it against the Enemy. His brother's sacrifice would not be in vain. The Ring would be Gondor's, Its rightful place.

Frodo had noticed Faramir's staring since the beginning. "The Ring will not save Gondor. It will only destroy it. If you use this Ring, everything you have will be lost. You wish to save the White City? The White City will fall if I do not destroy it!"

"You're lying," Fararmir slithered villainously. "I will be able to control it."

"You want to know what happened to Boromir?" Sam shrieked. "Do you want to know why he died, or do you want a heroic ending for him?"

Faramir jumped up. Boromir deserved nothing less than a heroic ending. He would have the most valiant, heroic, great death. Faramir had sworn that about his brother. This Halfling had been trouble since he was first arrested.

Frodo backed away from Faramir. He looked even more threatening than before.

Sam didn't budge. "He swore an oath to protect Frodo and he tried to kill him!"

Faramir hissed, "He wouldn't. You speak lies!"

"The Ring drove him mad! He tried to kill Frodo for the Ring. He thought he could control It! He was stupid enough to try!"

Faramir shook his head. His body shook with uncontrollable anger. "Stop talking now!"

"Your brother couldn't master it!" Sam shouted. "He was too bloody arrogant, too haughty to-"

Faramir let actions guide him.

When he came to himself, Frodo was kneeling over Sam, whimpering and fretting. Gollum was in the corner, more frightened than ever. Sam tilted his head off the cobblestone ground, his nose bleeding.

"I-I-I'm sorry," Faramir breathed. "I'm sorry!"

Frodo used his cloak to dab the bleeding. His eyes slowly turned to Faramir. Those sad, hopeful, almost dead eyes stabbed Faramir's heart as tears slowly poured from them. "Please, please, please let us go! You'll be doing yourself a favor!"

Faramir stood there, hopeless, dumbstruck that he hit Sam. What was…what was he? The Ring. That answer summed up his behavior. The Ring was controlling him to an evil side that Faramir hadn't known. He knew one thing now. He didn't like this new side of him.

It hit him like a kick in the guts. What Sam was saying was true. Boromir would have fallen to the Ring, like all Men would have. Boromir did want to bring the Ring to Minas Tirith; and he loved power. He felt untreatable guilt as he realized that was Sam was saying was true…and Faramir had beaten him because of it.

"I'm sorry." He was tearing up.

"Nazgûl!" the cry sounded.

Faramir felt death overcome him.

It would overcome them all in mere minutes.

* * *

Faramir sped up the stairs. He knocked his arrow and shot a Nazgûl. He missed. He cursed.

The next thing he saw made his heart stop.

Frodo stood there, above where he was supposed to be held. He held something in front of him. Faramir knew what it was. The Nazgûl slowly reached for It.

Faramir saw Sam rush up. "No! Frodo! No!"

Faramir leapt over a broken wall. He aimed and shot. This time he pierced the dragon the Nazgûl rode. It slowly backed away. Sam grabbed Frodo and both lost their balance. They wavered over an opening in the wall, and the ground was a hundred feet below.

"Frodo! Sam!" Faramir shouted.

The remains of a gate nearly touched the demolished building. He raced to them across the gate's beam. He leapt at them. He collided with them. They smashed on the stable landing.

Frodo shook his head. "What happened?"

"The Ring's taken control of you!" Sam lamented.

Faramir looked back to the Nazgûl. It was flying away, realizing that it was futile to attack now.

He turned to them. "You need to get out of here now. That phantom will return."

Sam nodded. "Thank you! Where do we go?"

Faramir brought them to their feet. "I will show you the way."

Frodo's breathing was wavering, but he still said, "Gollum must come with us. He is our guide. He knows of another path we must take other than the Black Gate."

"Cirith Ungol?" Faramir gaped.

"He didn't say the name," Frodo admitted.

"It figures," Sam muttered.

Faramir brought them to where Gollum had stayed put. He snatched Gollum's neck and pounded him against the wall. "Are you taking them to Cirith Ungol?"

Gollum whimpered, "Y-y-yes!"

Faramir dropped Gollum. "Frodo, the path of Cirith Ungol holds a dark and dangerous phantom. I've read about it. Those that enter never come out."

Gollum sizzled, "_We've made it through! We have!_ Very dark, very dangerous, very deadly!_ We must try! The Black Gate path failed! We must try!"_

Frodo looked to Faramir. "We have to. It's the last path."

Faramir sighed. "I do not agree with you, but you must take the path you see fit."

"Thank you, Lord Faramir," Sam breathed. "You've shown great bravery, refusing the Ring. You are of the highest quality of men."

Faramir smiled. "And I will never underestimate gardeners of the Shire again, Master Samwise."

It was Sam's turn to smile.

Faramir cut Gollum's binds and led them across the city. They soon came to the sewer, which burrowed underground all the way to the forest past Minas Tirith. "Go with all speed, and the blessing of Men."

The Halflings nodded their thanks, though they cringed at what they would have to walk through.

Before Frodo left, he smiled at Faramir. "Your brother would be proud of you. Immensely proud."

Frodo had repaired six days' damage of sadness and agony to Faramir's heart. Faramir needed to hear that, those words, and hear them with meaning. Whatever Boromir had done wrong, he had made remarkable friends on his journey. "Thank you. Now go and destroy our doom."

When Frodo and Sam had turned past the corner, Faramir strangled Gollum again. "May death find you if you bring any of them to harm," he threatened.

Gollum was thrown into the sewer, an appropriate place for him, and he lumbered off, struggling for breath.

* * *

Faramir was relieved when he found that the fighting had ended as he escorted the Ring bearers to the sewer. Osgiliath was under peace again, but war still threatened its legacy.

"Lord Faramir, where were you?" called the second in command, Daril. "Where are the prisoners?"

Faramir breathed. "I set them lose. They are continuing with their Quest."

Daril looked dumbfounded. "Lord Faramir, Lord Denethor has just ordered that the Ring be brought to him!"

"Who told him of this?"

"The messenger we sent to Minas Tirith. He reported on our progress. Our lord the Steward expects It immediately!"

Faramir felt this disaster wash over him, but, remembering what Frodo and Sam told him, he forgot about it. "He won't get It. They are taking It to Mordor."

Daril grabbed Faramir's shoulders and took him to a more secluded corner. "Lord Faramir, do you know what that means? Your life will be forfeit! You will lose your captainship, your privileges as Steward…"

"And I will gain my father's wrath," Faramir finished. "The Ring will be destroyed in Mount Doom. If this displeases my father, so be it. My life is forfeit."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Denethor locked the door to his room and ordered not to be disturbed under any circumstances.

His son was dead. Boromir, his eldest, was dead. It was enough to lose Finduilas, the love of his life, but now, his son was gone.

The scout who reported Faramir's actions had brought the cloven horn back to him. It was the final proof.

Was it because of him? Did Denethor push his son to travel to Rivindell and cause his death?

Denethor shook. He collapsed next to the window and wept. He wept for his son.

The feeling of his heart couldn't be explained. It wasn't grief…or maybe it was. Guilt ransacked his soul. If he didn't push the bar too high for Boromir to reach, if he didn't insist that he be the perfect warrior, he'd still be alive.

What if Faramir went instead? If Denethor didn't intrude, would Boromir still be alive?

"Son, would you forgive me? Please! Forgive me!" Denethor whimpered. "Oh, son I'm so sorry!"

Denethor cradled the horn next to him. His son…Boromir was gone. It had taken so long to sink in. "Boromir, you were right. Your brother should have gone!"

* * *

Osgiliath was lost.

The once proud city was now crushed to rubble, filthy Orcs filling the streets. It was lost.

Faramir bolted on his horse back to Minas Tirith. His men had fought hard throughout the night but there were just too many Orcs. Now, the Nazgûl were closing in on them.

Faramir couldn't let the Nazgûl come near the White City; he supposed that they may be able to hold them off with the catapults, but it was a next to nothing chance. They'd overtake the city, claim it for Mordor, and all would want death before it happened.

_We are not done! Gondor will survive! We will see the return of our king before our city fades! _Faramir told himself. He prayed this prayer the whole ride back. His hands shook as he held the reigns. His teeth chattered. It would _not _happen!

The Nazgûl wings swept men off the ground, only to meet a harrowing death once they landed. Some were lifted then dropped. They all screamed.

Faramir pushed his horse forward, like his surviving men.

Out of the corner of his eye, Faramir saw a bright light. It drove the Nazgûl away. Not caring what it was, Faramir sighed and rejoiced in relief. He could've leapt for joy. Minas Tirith's gates were a short distance away. He rode into them, and beside him rode a magnificent white steed.

Faramir led his horse to the stables, smiling at all of the rejoining of wives and husbands, mothers, fathers and sons, and brothers.

A familiar voice came from the white steed, direction evident. "Prepare yourselves. The fight has only begun."

"Gandalf?" Faramir gasped. He slipped through the horses and men until he snatched the...white cloak?

Gandalf turned. "Ah! Faramir, how good to see you."

"Same to you."

Shadowfax shuffled to avoid a man's clumsy fall, and Faramir gasped at the passenger Gandalf was carrying.

A Halfling. He was younger than Sam and Frodo. He looked at Faramir with a sort of...curiosity and fright.

"Hello, sir," he cautiously said.

Faramir stared at him, wondering why such a young thing was in a crumbling city.

"Faramir, this is not the first time you've seen a Halfling?" Gandalf asked.

Faramir snapped back into the present. "No. No, Gandalf it's not."

The Halfling's face lit up as if with the glow of candlelight. "You've seen Frodo and Sam! You have! You've seen them! Gandalf, Gandalf he's seen them! They're alive!"

Gandalf nodded, smiling, thrilled.

"Gandalf!" Faramir warned. "There's bad news! They've taken the path of Cirith Ungol."

Gandalf's joy was murdered in an instant. "The path of Cirith Ungol?"

Faramir never heard Gandalf's voice more hopeless. He cringed. He should never have let Frodo and Sam take that path.

Apparently, the Halfling had sensed Gandalf's distress. His eyes filled with fright and he shook. "What's wrong? What's that path?"

"Faramir, meet me in the gardens. Tell me everything."

Faramir nodded.

"Will someone tell me what's happening?" the Halfling almost shouted. "What's wrong with my cousin?"

Gandalf rode away.

Faramir felt his heart leap out to the Hobbit. This was one of the cousins that Frodo had left behind. And now, because of Faramir, they might never see each other again.

* * *

Gandalf and Faramir, as planned, strolled among the gardens. The gardeners were in another part of the haven, so they had at least a smidge of privacy.

"I thought that there'd be no harm. Sam will never let anything happen to Frodo." Faramir didn't know why he was arguing. The wizard was staring straight ahead, showing that he already made up his mind.

"I am aware of that," Mithrandir said, "but there is still reason to worry. Frodo carries a dangerous weapon."

"I know."

"You know?"

Faramir looked to the path he was treading. "I nearly stole it from him."

Gandalf halted. His face spoke worry and surprise at once. "What transpired? What did you do?"

"I nearly took the Ring. But I let them go."

"The Ring was still in Frodo's possession?"

"Yes."

Gandalf smiled. "Thanks to you, we now have a chance. It may be slim, but they now trek Mordor. They are close."

Faramir didn't know what to say about that. He felt like he had done a horrible thing. "I wanted the Ring, Gandalf. I was willing to kill for It."

"So is every being in this earth. I myself was tempted."

Faramir didn't mean to gape. Gandalf, however, found it amusing and chuckled. "You are one of the few in this earth with strong willpower. Because you refused the Ring, we have this chance. Remember that." Gandalf's eyes still spoke some danger was waiting for Frodo and Sam, but he hoped his words carried some meaning.

Faramir nodded. "Gandalf, I have to ask. Why are your clothes now white? And you hair?"

Gandalf merrily laughed. "Many have asked that question. I suppose it would have been better if I could be Saruman the White in my grey cloak."

"Pardon?"

"Gandalf the Grey is dead. He died fighting the Balrog. Because our greatest Wizard, Saruman the White, has fallen, I have returned for one reason only. I have taken his place."

Faramir nodded. "That doesn't make sense, Mithrandir."

Gandalf laughed. "It would be a miracle if anyone understood it."

* * *

Faramir grew more frightened with each step he took. He was seeing his father for the first time since Boromir died. But he knew there would be no shared tears this visit. Denethor would surely beat Faramir for what he had done. Disobeyed orders! Gave away the Ring! He supposed his father would be most lethal regarding the Ring. His stomach lurched with fear.

As he neared the throne room, he heard distinctive mumbling. He thought he heard that voice before.

He silently peeked past the corner and smiled.

There paced Frodo's cousin, dressed in Gondor livery, appearing to be stressed.

He said, "In peace or war, in dying or living…no! in living or dying from this point forward 'till my lord release me or death take me! Yes, I got it!"

Faramir couldn't help but chuckle. He rounded the corner and asked, "Practicing?"

The Halfling started. "Yes."

"What is your name?"

"Everyone calls me Pippin," the small one said with a smile.

"I am Faramir."

"Boromir's brother?"

"Yes."

"He was a good man. He saved my life more times than I can count."

"I am glad." Faramir smiled. Pippin was looking awkward, like he had no idea how to talk to him. "What were you practicing?"

"The swearing-in speech. To honor Boromir's death I'm…enrolling in the Steward's service, to pay the debt."

"Debt?"

"He died saving my life."

Faramir smiled. So Boromir had died doing something honorable. He assumed Sam didn't know about it because they separated before then. Frodo had said that he didn't know that Boromir died. "It is an honorable thing that you do."

"Thank you. But…"

"Yes?"

Pippin stammered, "I don't think that I can do it. What can someone like me offer a great Steward?"

Faramir smiled. "If you're doing this for honorable reasons, then that worry doesn't matter."

Pippin looked down, a bit embarrassed, and then smiled. "Thank you. Are you going to see your father?"

Faramir cringed. "Yes. I fear the worst. I've been a weak fool."

"You have strength. And bravery."

Faramir scoffed. "How do you know?"

"Gandalf told me how you helped Frodo and Sam. Thank you."

Faramir shuffled his feet, impatient for the page to summon them in. "I can only hope that my father feels as you and Gandalf do."

* * *

Pippin had been sworn in. He was now standing by Denethor, performing his duties as a page.

Now it was Faramir's turn.

"Captain Faramir," Denethor croaked. He was pale, old, withered. He was not the same man.

"Milord."

"The outer defenses of Osgiliath must be reclaimed. We will show Gondor's power."

"Milord, Osgiliath is overtaken. Countless Orcs outnumber any amount of men we could send out…"

"Rubbish!" Denethor shouted. "Send out the men."

Faramir felt trapped. His father told him go, but his mind told him to stay. Retaking Osgiliath was hopeless; he knew that in heart and mind.

"Faramir," Denethor warned. "I gave you an order! Go and send the men!"

"Milord, it is impossible to retake Osgiliath." _Did those words just come out of my mouth?_

Denethor shot up and shouted, "I ordered you to retake it! Do so!"

Faramir had seen this side of his father before. "In my opinion, milord, it is folly to attempt this!"

"Boromir would be out there by now!" Denethor shouted. "He would give me the Ring! He wouldn't leave it with some half-witted Halfling!"

Pippin almost spoke up, but thought better of it at the last minute. Hastily, he literally bit his tongue, hoping for a happy ending.

"Boromir was consumed by the Ring!" Faramir shouted. "He almost died because of it!"

"He'd be strong enough!"

"It makes us weak! It needs to be destroyed!"

"You dare oppose me? You who lose Osgiliath in the first place…twice!"

Faramir was catching his breath. He said quietly, "Father, I…"

Denethor shrieked, "Your brother would win this for me!" Shaking, Denethor collapsed to the ground.

"Lord Denethor!" Pippin cried, scurried to help his lord.

Faramir got there first. He grabbed his father's shoulders, pulling him up. "Father, let me…"

Denethor backslapped him.

Faramir froze. In twenty-six years, his father never hit him. Why now?

Denethor, shaking, stood. His gaze was something Faramir never wanted to see again. The coldness and hate flashed from them like lightning.

Denethor continued, "Your brother would be the one to win this war. You brother would sit in that chair! Your brother would do my will!"

_Stop it! _Faramir pleaded in his heart. _Stop it! Stop it!  
_

Whether or not Denethor heard, he calmed and limped to his chair. Pippin offered to take his hand, but Denethor shooed it away.

Silence hung in the air.

Faramir broke it, after he realized everything his father was feeling. "You-you wished I'd gone to Rivindell. You want Boromir to live and me to die. You would like us to be switched."

Denethor gripped the arms of his chair, stared out the window. "Yes. I want that."

Faramir froze in time. He paid no attention to Pippin's flabbergasted expression.

Of all the stabs Denethor gave Faramir, of all the emotional welts, hurried slaps and every hurtful thing, those four words hit him the hardest. They stung. A thousand swords tore his heart in pieces. Suddenly, the slap felt a hundred times harder.

They killed him. He stood there, dead. He couldn't find his voice.

Finally, he growled, "Since Boromir cannot please you, I'll take his place."

Faramir turned to exit the throne room. But he turned back and pleaded, "When I return, think better of me."

"That will depend on how you return."

Faramir felt an arrow pierce his heart again.

He hurried out of the throne room, commanding his tears to halt. He clenched his teeth, trapping any hot words that might escape.

_I hate him! I _hate _him! Father, I_ hate _you! _

* * *

_Please review!_


	23. Chapter 23

_I decided to skip ahead a while in time because this story is wrapping up to an end (I've felt this way for a long time) and I don't feel like covering everything that happened. Besides, I think it's a little tiring both writing and reading something that has already been done before. So, I give you a little conclusion of how Faramir and Denethor's relationship had its ups and downs and how they "reconcile". Sorry this took so long, I was deciding what to do…and I had other projects to do. Special thanks for inspiration from a review done by AA-Mama Bird Cat with a little seasoning from Chamelaucium. Thanks guys! (Hope you all like it) PLEASE REVIEW! _

* * *

Chapter 23

Almost thirty years old, Faramir fell asleep under the moonlight creeping into his bedroom. The steady breathing of his wife Éowyn lulled him to sleep. With one last look across the room, the crib which held his son, he fell asleep.

* * *

_I'm dreaming, _Faramir thought. And he was.

He stood on the balcony overlooking the White City. The moon made the city glow a magnificent light. Oh, how sweet it was.

Faramir had been consumed with thoughts of his son lately. Little Elboron was a joy to him. His wife, Éowyn, was the light he had been waiting for. He loved them both. He would never allow anything to happen to either of them. Especially his son.

He would not allow his son to be kidnapped. None of his children would bear the same terror…ever, the horrid separation, excruciating fear, and the horror of never seeing your family again.

He smiled, wanted to look at the crib, to see his son.

When he did, he could not believe what he saw. He knew he was dreaming, but the sight still angered him.

"Get away!" Faramir shouted. "Get away from him! You're not welcome here!" He made his son start crying with his scream.

Denethor backpedalled away from his grandson. He had died by suicide years before his birth. And with what he was doing when he died, Faramir had a right to be angry. Very angry. Even after many years, Faramir still hated him.

Faramir instinctively and protectively put an arm over the crib, shielding his son. With his other hand, he caressed the crying baby's cheek. "Hush, little one. Hush now, Papa's here."

Denethor dared speak, "He's beautiful."

Faramir snapped, "Don't talk to me."

Denethor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I know you have a right to be angry. I-I didn't treat you very well…"

"Well?! That's the word you chose! You didn't treat me _well_?" Faramir breathed hard, trying to control himself. "My son will never hear those words come out of my mouth! He will never hear that he isn't worth anything, that I'd rather have another human being for him! He will not!"

Denethor bit his lip, looked to his grandson before Faramir could block his face with his arm, but he continued looking. "I know, I know. You're going to be a perfect parent." He sounded sarcastic. "He looks like you did. You were such a weak baby."

"My son is not weak!" Elboron was still crying.

Denethor cringed and calmly said, "That's not what I meant." His face had masked emotions.

"Well, you've told it enough to me! How many times did you tell me I was weak?"

Denethor huffed, "I know! That's why I'm here! F-Faramir, I don't expect that you'll listen to me, but I'm…sorry!"

Faramir shook his head. "No, no you don't get to be. The last moment with you was telling me that I wasn't good enough for you, that I had to earn your love!" Faramir left his position by the crib and angrily paced around. "Do you know how much that hurt me? Oh, but you didn't stop there! You burned me on the pyre!"

Denethor rubbed his forehead. "I thought you were dead."

Faramir snapped, "I bet you were happy."

The masked emotions threw off the disguise. Denethor shrieked, "Don't say that! It tore me to pieces, Faramir! Don't say I was happy! I thought that I killed you! I thought that you died because I sent you there! I thought I killed you!"

Faramir froze. The new information plagued him, but in the good way.

Denethor hid tears as he continued, "You don't know what it's like to lose your child, all of your children, your two sons, your wife! You don't know that hopelessness." Denethor looked to his son's son. "And I pray that you never will!"

Faramir, dumbfounded, stammered, "You…you…"

Denethor didn't hear him. Confessions flowed like rain. "I always thought that I'd lose you. When you were born, you were so weak! I thought you would die! So, I thought that if I didn't get too attached to you, then it would be easier when you died. As you got older, your mother died, the visions of the Palantir became darker, and when your brother died…that was it for me and I just took everything out on you! Son, I'm so sorry!"

Faramir never saw his father so broken down. Never. He barely noticed that Elboron stopped crying.

"And then they brought you back from Osgiliath. I thought you were dead. I…I had lost all of my family, the pain that you're feeling now; losing your mother and brother. I thought to repay murdering you by dying with you, at least giving you that peace."

"Father, wait. Don't…take this out all on you."

"It's my fault! Everything in your life has been my fault! I should've spent time with you like I did with Boromir. Oh Faramir, I can't explain that, other than I've been a fool, a heartless…" Denethor was crying.

Faramir's heart leapt out to his father. And where his heart went, Faramir followed. He grabbed his father's shoulders, half-hugged him. "Father, don't do this to yourself. Please. You did spend time with me." Faramir didn't want this memory to return, but it had to. "Do you remember when I was kidnapped?"

Denethor growled, "Yet another thing that was my fault!"

"And you apologized! Remember? Don't you? You helped me read that night. The poems and songs that mother loved. Father, that meant so much to me!" Faramir started crying. "It helped me get back on my feet! You helped me heal after that, don't you remember?"

Denethor nodded.

Faramir repeated, "When all is lost, I cannot hide. The greatest hope is at my side. The King has come. He's won our wars. The King will reign forevermore." He then added, "The king has returned, you see. They changed the lyrics to fit."

Denethor smiled just a bit. "I-I know. Son, I-I don't expect it, but..."

"You're forgiven, Father. Father…" Faramir couldn't go on.

Denethor bit his lip.

Father and son embraced tightly, welcoming a moment that was long, long overdue.

"I love you so much, Faramir," Denethor whispered.

"I love you too, Father!" Faramir was thrilled to finally hear those words.

Faramir released his father and arose to look in the crib. "He is beautiful."

Denethor smiled. "Yes, he is, just like you were. Promise me that you'll take care of my grandson."

"I will. Uh, we named him Elboron. Éowyn, my wife, is from Rohan."

Denethor smiled. "They're both beautiful. I'm proud of you, about everything, Steward. Son, I…have to go."

Faramir licked his lips. "I know."

Denethor brought his son into a hug. "I love you. Never forget that, even though I've never said it before…to you anyway. I'll send Boromir and your mother your greetings. We look forward to the day you join us."

Faramir hugged his father back…and his heart sank when he slowly disappeared.

* * *

A baby's cry pounded in his parent's ears, waking them up.

Eowyn groaned. "Why do you have to get up so early, Elboron?" The dawn was peeking in from the East, whether the sun was welcome or not.

Faramir draped his arm over his wife. "Eowyn, just…just lie here. I'll go get him."

"What if he's hungry?"

"Well, then you'll have to get up."

Eowyn giggled and drowsily watched as her husband left bed and lumbered to the crib.

Faramir gently took his son in his arms. "Hush, hush little boy. Papa's here. Papa's holding you."

As Faramir rocked him, Elboron silenced. He burbled and gargled at his father.

_Take care of my grandson for me, Faramir._

Faramir smiled and shed unexplained tears.

"I love you, Elboron." He kissed his son's forehead. "Just like your grandfather loved me."

And Elboron smiled, gargling in response.

THE END


End file.
